Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (34 page)

      
“Perhaps,” was his noncommittal reply.

      
“Need I remind you, Mr. Kennedy, that you are in San Antonio under a safe conduct signed by General Woll, who is now in command of the city?”

      
“Point taken.” He shrugged, rather too carelessly.

      
“Then you may have the gold delivered to my town house tomorrow night at precisely midnight. My servants will be dismissed for the night and the back courtyard gate will be open. It is most secluded.”

      
“I shall expect a full report about your irregular soldier's activities. Also a complete inventory of all expenditures. Fussy, those bureaucrats. You do understand me, Doña Tomasina?”

      
“Perfectly, Señor Kennedy.”

Chapter Fourteen

      
Charlee sat by the pond, feet dangling in the cool water, lazing in the late afternoon sun. She looked peaceful, but she was deeply troubled. Jim had been gone for nearly a week, and she had no idea when he would return. It could be weeks, or it could be never if Markham and his lethal friends were lucky and Slade was not. With a shudder, she forced that thought from her mind. As if sensing her malaise, Hellfire butted her chin with a wet, cold nose, letting out a soothing series of murphs. He rubbed sinuously back and forth against her arm, and then began to knead furiously on her lap.

      
“Ouch! That hurts, you rascal. This skirt's too thin for your long claws.” She stroked the scarred head, and he settled down in her lap. Charlee frequently came to this quiet place to dream or to work out her troubles. Whether she was alone or with Slade, Hellfire always followed.

      
She closed her eyes and remembered their last time here, two days before Jim had left on this desperate mission. He had loved her so deliriously, passionately, tenderly. No, she corrected herself with a wrench in her heart—he made love to her. There was a difference. Did he love her? He
had
asked her to marry him…only after she had blurted out her fear of being pregnant. But had he done so out of some misguided sense of honor, or guilt for having stolen her virginity? He had never said that he loved her, only that he wanted her. But he had told her that he once thought he was in love with Tomasina. Could he still be in thrall to that cold, calculating beauty?

      
Disturbing the purring cat, she lay down on the warm grass, curling into a ball and stroking Hellfire while she relived their conversation the morning he had returned from visiting Tomasina.

      
Slade had been very brusque and short-tempered, busy loading weapons when she had interrupted him.

      
“Weevils says you and Lee are going on some sort of vigilante raid,” she said in concern.

      
He had looked up in agitated surprise, seemingly viewing her as an unwelcome intruder. Continuing to pour powder down the barrel of a Pennsylvania Long Rifle, he had answered as he worked. “Hardly vigilante, Charlee. Lee and I are duly sworn-in members of the Bexar County Militia, and we're legally empowered to go after any gun and whiskey runners trading with the Comanche. I only wish Jack Hays and his men weren't scouting to the south. We could use their help.”

      
“You mean you're going after Ashley Markham and Iron Hand?” she had questioned, with dread in her voice.

      
He nodded absently, putting down one rifle and picking up another to begin the meticulous process of preparing the single-shot percussion rifle for firing.

      
“This all has something to do with that note you got from Tomasina Carver, doesn't it?” Lord, she sounded like a shrewish wife already, even to her own ears!

      
He put down the gun and walked over to her. Taking her hands in his, he ushered her to the big chair behind the desk. He slung one long leg across the corner of it and sat facing her.

      
“Yes, Sina sent for me. It seems she received word from Markham that he's meeting with his Comanchero friends, even going with them to deliver the goods now that Brady's dead. It's our big chance to nail him once and for all.”

      
“But it's so dangerous...what if...what if it's a trap? Can you trust her?” She really wanted to cry,
How can you trust her!

      
Jim smiled rather ironically. “I think she's telling the truth about Markham. She wants him out of her life now that their illegal activities have been uncovered. She believes we're still engaged, and she definitely needs my protection from the authorities,” he finished darkly.

      
Charlee felt a stab of alarm, but she struggled not to show it. She had to ask, “Are you still engaged to her?”
Are you still in love with her?

      
Jim had sighed, as if realizing it would not be easy to explain. “I have to rendezvous with the other men in only a few hours. There isn't time to go into it all. It's very complicated, a long tale of family obligations and youthful romanticism. Only remember now that—”

      
Charlee would have given anything to have had him complete that sentence, but just then the door had swung open and Lee burst in, fairly bristling with guns and knives. She had never before seen such a cold, hard expression on his face.

      
“We're late, Jim. Where's the extra shot for the Wilkinsons?” Lee seemed not to notice Charlee, so great was his preoccupation.

      
Tossing him several heavy pouches of shot, Slade had stood up and bent to plant a swift, carelessly aimed kiss on Charlee's nose. “Take care, Cat Eyes. We'll be back when we finish this. It may take a while to track him to his filthy friends, so don't worry if we're gone for a few weeks. Remember, I've been doing this since I was fifteen, and I know how to take care of myself.”

      
“Yeah, and you have all the scars to prove it,” she had shouted at his retreating back, unreassured and frantically worried.

      
That had been last week. Now, she lay by the cool, unbroken waters of the pool, afraid for him and uncertain of what would happen when he returned. He must return. She could not bear to consider otherwise.

      
Giving Hellfire a solid pat, she sat up and began to put her shoes on. “No use sitting here daydreaming. Humph, might as well pull petals off a daisy. ‘He loves me, he loves me not,’ ” she said in a singsong voice.

      
When Charlee returned to the ranch kitchen, it was past time to begin dinner. Smiling at Weevils, who was peeling a large pot of potatoes, she donned an apron and grabbed a fat, freshly killed chicken. Carefully she reached into its body cavity and extracted the entrails, cleaning and cutting where they adhered to the flesh.

      
Looking up, Weevils said, “Be shore yew save me th' gizzard.”

      
“Oh, Weevils, that's Hellfire's favorite piece. Oh well, I guess he can make do with the heart. I love the liver. What do you want the gizzard for anyway? You never eat anything but the white meat.”

      
“Ain't fer eatin', ” the old cook said patiently. “Jist need th' linin' from th' gizzard.”

      
“Let me guess,” she interjected. “It's a folk remedy for rheumatism.”

      
“Nope,” he said with evident disgust at her willful ignorance. “Biled chicken gizzard linin' 'n pepper 'n vinegar are th' best cure there be fer th' stomachache.”

      
“Who's sick?” Charlee was so preoccupied the past week worrying over Jim and Lee that she hardly took note of the rest of the men at the ranch.

      
“Thet young feller Josey Kellerman's been complainin' somethin' fierce ‘bout his gut,” Weevils replied.

      
“Maybe he should go see Doc Weidermann,” Charlee said uncertainly.

      
Weevils let out a loud oath in his high-pitched whine. “Why, thet loco ole Rooshin'd kill th' tad. All's he needs is a good dose o' my medicine 'n he'll be fit—”

      
“Ta puke, but then, I reckon that might cure th' lazy tramp from malingerin',” Asa interrupted as he entered the room, tossing a dusty hat on the wall rack and sinking into a chair.

      
“You're sure he's not really sick, Asa?” Charlee began to smile despite her earlier depression. “If not, I'd love to see him take his medicine!”

      
Asa guffawed. “No more'n Lee would, I bet. Last time he was down with the grippe, Weevils here sat on him and poured near a gallon of that stinkin' broth down his throat.” He added in puzzled afterthought, “Never saw a feller get well so quick.”

      
“Oh, Asa, why did Lee have to go with Jim and the rangers? He's only a boy, not an Indian fighter.”

      
“Just remember, Charlee, I watched Jim's pa send him out when he was lot younger'n Lee. Boys have to become men hereabouts, real quick. ‘Sides, he has his own personal reasons for goin',” Asa finished darkly.

      
“What do you mean?” Even her friend and companion Lee had secrets, it seemed.

      
Asa cleared his throat, uncertain how to tell the girl such a ghoulish thing. “Jim's pa took Lee in when he was only a tad, an orphan.”

      
“I know. He told me that,” she said impatiently.

      
“Well, what he didn't tell you was how he got orphaned.”

      
With a sickening dread, Charlee intuited what Asa was about to tell her. “The Indians killed his parents,” she said in a choked voice.

      
“Not only his ma and pa, but his older brother and sister, too. Burned the house to the ground. Will found him crouched over the bodies of his ma 'n pa. Figgered he'd been there for at least a day, mebbe more. Only reason he escaped was because his ma'd hid him in the root cellar afore she went after the other children. He was only six years old, but he'll never forget, I reckon. The Comanche were all drunked up on Comancheros' whiskey,” Asa finished sadly.

      
“No wonder he looked so harsh and cold the morning they left. How awful. He never told me anything about it,” Charlee said, with a break in her voice, remembering how she had defended Indians' rights to him and he had let it pass without comment. But recalling the look on his face the day he left with Slade, she knew that his hatred for the Comancheros was a fierce and terrible thing. If only it didn't blind him to danger when he went into battle against a cunning and deadly foe like Markham.

      
“Rider comin', Asa,” Weevils piped, interrupting the tragic tale of Lee's family.

      
“Is it Jim?” Charlee asked hopefully, then at once realized her foolishness.

      
Slade would not be alone and would not come to the front door. She leaped up and raced past the wheezing old cook. At the end of the long hall, a tall, thickset figure huddled against the door frame, looking over his shoulder at the deserted front road.

      
Whalen Simpson owned one of the largest liveries in San Antonio. A big, muscular bear of a man with a brushy handlebar moustache, thick tan hair, and bright blue eyes, he was considered by many of the town's spinsters and widows to be a prize catch. He had courted with Deborah and was obviously smitten with her, but she was as persistent in ignoring his overtures as he was in making them.

      
“Evenin’, Miss Charlee,” he said nervously, doffing his hat and entering as she opened the door for him.

      
“What are you doing out here this late, Mr. Simpson?” His fearful manner was odd. Was someone following him?

      
“You folks ain't got the word? Figured not. That's why I stopped here on my way to meet up with our volunteers. I spent near a week ridin', spreadin' the alarm. Lucky to escape with my life, I was.”

      
“What in tarnation you tryin' ta tell us, Whalen?” Asa interrupted impatiently as he stalked up behind Charlee.

      
“San Antonio's been captured by the Mex army! Thousands of ‘em. We tried to fight, but they cut us to pieces. Sneaked up on us in a fog, they did, cannons and all. Some of us got away when the fog came rollin' back in. We’re gettin' volunteers to march on the city under Matt Caldwell and Jack Hays. Where's Jim?”

      
Charlee let out a horrified gasp and Asa swore. Weevils just shook his head in silent consternation.

      
“Reckon I'll be ridin' with ya, Whalen. Let me go down ta the bunk house an’ take a tally of who's game for action 'n fit ta ride. Oh, Jim's not here. Jim 'n Lee are out on militia business, after Comancheros.”

      
Charlee fumed. At the same time a full-scale attack on San Antonio occurs—how convenient! She only wished to have Tomasina Carver in front of her at that moment. She knew she'd kill the lying, betraying bitch with her bare hands. Then another thought flashed across her mind. “Deborah! My God, Deborah and Adam—are they all right?”

      
Simpson flushed a bit sheepishly and mumbled, “We had to get away and spread the alarm so fast, I never got me a chance to see to her. But I'm sure no harm'd come to her, ma'am. It was a regular army under command of a general.”

      
“So was the one at the Alamo, as I recall,” Charlee retorted, turning to dart upstairs.

      
Asa had already departed for the bunkhouse, but Weevils turned to call after the girl. “Now, Charlee—whut yew fixin’ ta do?” Already he didn't like it.

* * * *

      
“Charlee! How did you get into San Antonio?” Deborah's voice was laced with alarm as she rushed to the kitchen door and embraced her friend.