The Rebel and the Lady. Kathryn Albright
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of himself. Was this an American trait? She wasn’t sure she liked it. It bordered on rudeness. They had not been properly introduced and here he was still touching her wrist.
As if he read her thoughts, he released her arm and took the kettle from her hands. “Relax, miss. Although you are the prettiest señorita I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.” Then he passed by and continued up the stairs giving her a disconcerting view of his worn buckskin backside.
She frowned. She hadn’t expected him to suddenly turn charming. Drawing up the hem of her skirt, she followed.
He crossed the room in half the number of strides it took her and set the kettle on a nearby table. Sick and injured men on pallets lined the interior walls. As she approached, the doctor looked up from his desk.
“Señorita Torrez. Thank you for thinking of my men again.”
“They may all eat?” she asked. At his nod, she added, “There is plenty for you, too.” By her count, the two open rooms that served as the hospital held nineteen patients. The aroma of onions and chicken filled the room as she ladled the soup into small bowls on the counter.
She felt the bearded man watching her. All these Anglos had such scruffy beards. They reminded her more of beasts or bears than men. The ones who were sick, she could understand, but the Mexicans she knew in Laredo kept theirs neatly trimmed or did not wear facial hair at all.
She sat down near the soldier on the end pallet and started spooning the food into his mouth, relieved to note the blue-eyed man turned away and started up a conversation with the doctor.
She didn’t mean to listen, but couldn’t help noticing the rich timbre of his voice. So pleasant and soothing. It called to her—resonating deep inside her. He had a slow and easy accent unfamiliar to her, and different from the other Anglos who lived here. But he was too cocky for his own good. He wasn’t to be trusted. A man like that usually took what he wanted and didn’t worry about anyone else’s feelings.
Still, she caught bits and pieces of their talk. He needed something for his horse. Something was infected. Well, at least he’d been telling her the truth about that.
She moved to the next patient, a man with his hands bandaged.
“Pssst!”
Startled, Victoria dribbled hot soup over the man’s chest. “Oh! Pardon me!” She dabbed at the liquid with her apron before looking up from her work to find a woman motioning to her from the doorway of the room. “Sí?”
The woman glanced at the line of bedridden soldiers and at the doctor. She shook her head and made the sign of the cross over her breast.
“Excuse me,” Victoria said to the man she’d been helping, and walked over to the door.
“Señorita,” the woman said in Spanish. “Capitán Seguín is asking for you at the house.”
“Did Diego return?”
“Si.”
Victoria’s stomach clenched. This couldn’t be good. She nodded to the woman. “Gracias. I will come immediately.”
The woman left quickly, and Victoria turned back to the soldier on the pallet. She would not be able to finish helping him. The large Anglo had stopped talking to the doctor and watched her. Suspicion clouded his eyes. Just how much Spanish did he know? Had he understood the woman’s words?
“Doctor Pollard? I am sorry to have to excuse myself. I have been called back to the house. I will come for the kettle later.”
The doctor nodded to her and she turned and headed down the stairs, all the while feeling the other man’s gaze on her. He filled the room with his rough presence and made her feel as though jumping beans were bouncing in her stomach. Not at all a pleasant sensation.
She crossed the small footbridge over the San Antonio River on her way back into town, drawing her cloak close about her shoulders. Loud voices came from inside the small general store as the door opened and a man stumbled out, his arms around a full sack of flour. He dropped it into a wagon loaded high with bedding and pans and tools. A woman held the bridle of the burro hitched to the cart and frequently scanned the street urging her husband to hurry.
Entering Juan’s house, Victoria heard voices in the study. She stopped at the open door.
“Come. Victoria. You should hear this.” Juan motioned for her to enter. He removed his hat and poncho and tossed them on a nearby chair. Apparently he had just arrived at the house himself.
She turned to Diego. He’d grown since she’d seen him last. Now, at eighteen, he stood taller than she and had become wiry. He wore an old leather hunting shirt, most likely from his father. “Welcome, Diego. I’m glad to see you here. What news do you bring?”
He nodded, his face serious. “Santa Anna’s army is halfway between the Rio Grande and here. They’re moving this way.”
“How can that be when I left them at my father’s hacienda just nine days ago? The soldiers are on foot, not riding as I did. They could not travel so fast.”
“It is another section of the army, just as your father warned in his letter,” Juan said. “I’ve told Travis.”
“What is he going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He questions whether to believe me—a Tejano. I can see it in his eyes. He has not been in command long enough to understand how things are here. And he and Bowie don’t agree on much.” Juan pressed his lips together as he took Victoria’s hands in his. “You came here for safety. I’m sorry.”
“No, Juan. I came to warn you. To give you time to protect Gertrudis and your children. To help you prepare.” Frustrated tears came to her eyes and she clenched her fist. “And now the soldiers linger and talk of parties instead of readying themselves.”
Juan would not meet her eyes. “Perhaps I should help you leave town. I can’t take you to my family as I wish to. They are already safely away. Perhaps the town of Mina…”
Trembling took hold of Victoria. She would not keep running. She had as much right to stay as they did. “I do not think there is a safe place left in Tejas. I will not go.”
Juan’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “No?”
“No. If you make me leave, I will slip away at the first chance and come back here. This is my fight, too.”
“Victoria.” He was frowning now. “I want to see you safe. Just as your father wanted. He gave you into my care. I do not take his wishes lightly.”
She pulled herself to her full height. “I understand that, but this is my land, too—as much as it is my father’s and mother’s and yours. It is mine. Our people have given their blood and sweat to this land. Can I do less? My family is here. My place is here.”
His gaze, although still worried for her, also held a measure of pride. He released her hands and nodded his agreement to let her stay. “So be it.”
Turning to Diego, he continued. “I will talk to Travis. Perhaps he will grant leave to the men who have families and farms in Santa Anna’s path.”
“But, Juan,” Diego said. “Your land is there, too. Will you go also?”
“No. I agree with our cousin. My place is here. I am captain. I must set an example.”
Impulsively Victoria threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Then she drew in Diego, too. “This will be where we stand.”
Chapter Three
Jake heard the music coming from inside the cantina fifty paces from its doors. Someone played a violin and another a bass fiddle. Light from the candelabras inside spilled out in rectangular