Frontier Woman (34 page)

“You’ve picked up a little weight, Sloan,” Cricket countered. “Right here.” She poked Sloan in the belly. “That used to be flat. Been eating too many sugared
buñuelos
?”

Sloan laughed nervously. She placed a hand on her gently rounded abdomen. “I guess I must have. . . .”

Sloan had needed someone to talk to, and with her favorite sister gone she’d kept her secret locked up inside her. Because Cricket had eloped with a man she loved, Sloan felt sure if she spoke the truth, her sister would understand. “No, actually I’m—”

“But you’re wrong about marriage agreeing with me,” Cricket interrupted. “I’m glad to be out of it.”

“Out of it?”

Cricket took a deep breath. “It was never a real marriage, Sloan, not from the very beginning.”

“What? You never . . .”

Cricket blushed. “We did that, all right.”

“Then, you never said the vows?”

“We did that, too.”

Sloan sighed, exasperated. “Then, I don’t understand what you mean, that it wasn’t a real marriage.”

“We only got married because . . .” Cricket realized she was headed for shaky ground. If she explained to Sloan why Creed had wanted her away from Three Oaks, she would likely end up telling Sloan about the Rangers’ planned sneak attack on the rebels. Then she remembered the other reason she’d gone with Creed.

“Did you know Rip had planned a marriage between me and Cruz Guerrero?”

Sloan whistled. “So
that’s
why Rip went so crazy when he got the message from Creed that you’d eloped. The thought of Juan Carlos’s empire slipping through his hands must have been awful. So you ran away with Creed to escape the marriage to Cruz Guerrero?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t love Creed and you want out of your marriage to him.”

“I . . .” Cricket couldn’t lie to her sister. For as long as she could remember she’d shared everything with Sloan, no matter how personal. There might be raging anger, cutting criticism, or hysterical laughter when the secret was first revealed, but in the end there was always acceptance and love. She admitted, “I do love Creed. I don’t want out of the marriage. . . . He does.”

Sloan felt the pain of Cricket’s admission. “Are you sure?”

Cricket pulled her braid around to chew on the end of it. “About my feelings? Or his?”

“Let’s start with yours.”

“Can you tell me what love is, Sloan? I’d give a lot to know for sure that what I feel is the real thing.”

Sloan hesitated before she answered. “I know what I feel for Tonio. I can share that with you if you think it will help.”

The room was silent.

“I’m becoming something of an expert on the subject.” Sloan paused and took a deep breath before adding, “I’m going to have Tonio’s child.”

“Oh, no! That’s impossible!”

Sloan grinned. “I assure you it’s not impossible.”

“I mean, it’s terrible.” All Cricket could see in her mind’s eye was Antonio Guerrero hanging at the end of a rope held by Jarrett Creed.

The grin left Sloan’s face, and she replied heatedly, “Not to me. I love Tonio, and I want this baby very much.”

Cricket could see her sister had misinterpreted what she’d said. “You don’t understand, Sloan,” she wailed. She’d practically promised Creed she wouldn’t speak of what he’d told her, but if she didn’t say something, Sloan’s baby would be fatherless before it was born. What should she do?

“No,
you
don’t understand,” Sloan snapped. “You asked me what love is. Well, I’ll tell you what it is. It’s caring so much about someone else you’d give your life for him. It’s putting his happiness before yours, yet finding your own happiness in the pleasure you give to him. It’s caring and helping as much as needing and wanting. I love Tonio and he loves me.”

“If he loves you, why aren’t you married and living together?”

Sloan paled. “I told you, there are reasons. . . .”

“The only reason is he doesn’t love you at all. He’s just using you to carry messages to his rebel camp.” Cricket slapped her hands over her mouth as soon as she’d made the awful condemnation, but it was too late.

Sloan frowned and slowly shook her head. “Wha— what?”

Cricket lunged off the bed and crossed to the window. What did she know? Maybe Antonio did love her sister. But how could the Spaniard love Sloan and still involve her in his lawless activities?

“What rebel camp are you talking about?” Sloan asked, swinging her feet off the bed to stand at its edge.

Cricket said nothing.

Sloan crossed to Cricket and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. “What camp, Cricket? Tell me.”

“Antonio leads a band of Mexican revolutionaries, Sloan. He’s working with the Mexican government.”

“How do you know all this? Of course . . . Creed. But you’re both wrong. Tonio would never do such a thing.”

Cricket’s mouth came open to contradict Sloan, but no words came out. It was obvious Sloan had been used terribly by the Spaniard. He hadn’t even told her who, and what, he was. Cricket blanched, already enduring the pain she knew Sloan would feel when the cold, hard evidence forced her to accept the fact that the father of her child was a rebel and a traitor.

Sloan was very good at reading Cricket’s face. “What else do you know, Cricket? Is Tonio in danger?”

Cricket said nothing.

“He is. He’s in danger.” Sloan headed for the door. “I have to go to him.”

Cricket raced after Sloan. “No, Sloan. Wait! You can’t help him now.” She caught Sloan by the sleeve of her shirt at the door and wouldn’t release her. When the shirt ripped, Sloan turned on Cricket, her eyes wild with fear and threatened by tears.

Cricket had never seen her eldest sister cry, and the thought that Sloan was going to break down any second frightened her. Sloan was invincible.

“Please,” Sloan begged. “You have to tell me what you know, Cricket. I have to help Tonio.”

Cricket stared helplessly at Sloan. Creed’s warning rang in her ears. Sloan was liable to be hurt or killed if she interfered.

Cricket said nothing.

“For me.”

It was Sloan she was thinking of when she held her tongue. Cricket said nothing.

“For my baby. My baby needs a father, Cricket. Please.”

Cricket thought of Seth. She thought of Amy Creed’s unborn baby. She thought of Tom. Men, impulsive, inexplicable creatures that they were, made mistakes. Antonio deserved a chance to explain his actions to Sloan.

“We’ll have to hurry,” Cricket said. “The Rangers are planning to ambush the rebel camp early tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 24

I’M GLAD YOU COULD MEET WITH ME EARLIER than we originally planned,
Capitán
Silvio. I’m sorry
Coronel
Reyes could not come tonight, as well,” Antonio said without rising from his seat. “Please sit down and join me.”

He gestured the Mexican officer to the only other chair at the narrow wooden table in the otherwise unfurnished adobe hut. There were large open windows on three sides of the room and the battered door gaped wide, held only by a single leather hinge, but since there was no breeze, the June heat was oppressive. The candle on the table flickered as Antonio fanned himself with the invasion plans he intended to outline for the Mexican captain.

Captain Silvio tested one of the rickety chairs and then carefully sat down. “The
coronel
ordered me to come see what business you thought so urgent it could not wait until tomorrow morning, Señor Guerrero.”

Antonio pursed his lips in disgust. He’d rather have presented his plan directly to the colonel, but the Mexican officer had dismissed Antonio’s request for his immediate presence. Antonio didn’t bother to hide his irritation from the captain when he spoke. “One of my men, Alejandro Sanchez, intercepted a secret dispatch of
Los Diablos
Tejanos
. The Rangers will be here in force tomorrow morning at dawn. It therefore seemed wiser to have our meeting tonight.”

The captain’s face darkened ominously. “If you were really wise, Señor Guerrero, you would not have called me here at all. What if
Los Diablos Tejanos
move their plans ahead? We’ll be caught here like—”

“
Por favor, mi capitán
, do not concern yourself. We shall be safe enough for the time being. Alejandro is a good man, and he says the spy in our midst will trouble us no more. By morning you will be long gone with these plans”—Antonio stopped fanning himself long enough to hold up the papers in his hand—“and I will have the extreme pleasure of making fools of
Los Diablos Tejanos
.” Antonio caught a movement from the corner of his eye and shouted out the window, “Oscar, bring us something to drink.”

“
Sí
, Señor Guerrero.”

Antonio turned his head the other direction and shouted out the front door, “Clemencio, come in here.”

Clemencio got only so far as the threshold before shots rang out all around them. The Mexican fell through the doorway face first, a huge hole yawning where the center of his back was supposed to be. At the same time, Alejandro and Oscar came flying in through opposite windows, seeking safety inside the thick adobe walls.

Captain Silvio dove under the table, crossing himself. He’d fought all of his battles on paper and wasn’t prepared for the deafening report of the Rangers’ rifles, nor the sight of a man’s pink and purple insides spilling out upon the floor. “
Madre de Dios!
We are lost!”

“Idiota!”
Antonio swiped the candle off the table, so the room was dark except for what moonlight seeped in through the windows. He shoved a musket across the dirt floor to the uniformed officer. “Start acting like a soldier. Defend yourself.”

A strong Tennessee voice shattered the quiet that had descended after the initial barrage of gunfire. “You’re surrounded by Texas Rangers. Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands above your heads.”

“Alejandro, how is this possible?” Antonio hissed to the bandido, who was curled up under a window without any weapon at all. “I thought you killed the Ranger spy.”

“So did I,” Alejandro muttered. “So did I.”

“We are dead men,” Oscar wailed. “We must surrender.”

“I agree,” Captain Silvio said.

“And be hanged?” Antonio said with a sneer. “I prefer to die like a man.”

“I would not mind dying like a man,” Alejandro said, “but I do not even have a weapon to defend myself.”

“Take the musket from the
capitán
, then. He is apparently not going to use it.”

Alejandro crawled across the floor on his belly and retrieved the weapon from the whimpering soldier.

“I do not want to die.”

“Shut up,
Capitán
Silvio,” Antonio snapped. “I need to think.”

An occasional gunshot, followed by a yell or utter silence, gave witness to the fact the Rangers were making short work of the bandidos who’d been waiting outside the adobe house for further orders from Antonio.

“They will kill them all, and we will be next,” Alejandro said. “We have to give ourselves up.” He figured he had a much better chance of escaping alive from a Texan jail than he did from this adobe hut.

“No!” Antonio’s skin drew tight across his face. He would never give up. He knew the fate that awaited him if he did—and there was no one who’d fight to keep him from the gallows. Thanks to his brother, Cruz, he couldn’t count on the support of his wealthy family to protect him.

Cruz hadn’t been satisfied to leave his investigation solely to the
Diablo Tejano
and had sent his own man to infiltrate the rebel operation. When he’d discovered Antonio was heading the rebel contingent he’d threatened to go to Juan Carlos unless Antonio ceased his revolutionary activities.

Antonio had thought the threat a bluff and had disregarded it. He’d been galled when his father approached him and demanded he cease “this nonsense.” Juan Carlos had threatened to disown him and warned he’d do nothing to help Antonio if the Rangers discovered his involvement with the rebels.

But he’d seen that neither his father nor his brother would go so far as to betray him to the Rangers, so he’d promised obedience and then thumbed his nose at them—at their weakness—and continued as before, using the Stewart woman as a cover for his activities.

She’d been a gullible bitch, so in love with him that she refused to see how he used her, and now there was the bastard she carried to worry about. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. First he had to find a way to fight free of the Rangers.

“
Los Diablos Tejanos
will show no mercy,” Antonio said. “We have no choice except to fight. If we surrender, we will all hang.”

“You will hang, Antonio,” Alejandro said quietly. “I have done nothing worth hanging for.”

Antonio eyed the bandido warily. Alejandro was a survivor. He’d bear close watching. “You will stay right where you are, Alejandro. I am giving the orders here. And I say—”

The sound of galloping horses drew Antonio’s attention out the window. The horses drummed to a stop not far from the adobe house and a woman’s voice yelled, “Stop shooting! Don’t shoot!”

Creed’s voice was sharp with fear and anger. “Dammit, is that you, Brava? Get out of the line of fire!”

The India Company Brown Bess musket jerked against Alejandro’s shoulder when he pulled the trigger. The sound reverberated in the confines of the small room, making him temporarily deaf. Gunpowder choked his lungs. Smoke kept him from seeing the condition of his victim.

A spate of Ranger gunfire erupted in response to the shot from within the adobe hut.

“Hold your fire!” the Tennessee voice roared. “Hold your fire!”

The captain’s shrieks escaped through the open window. “
Madre de Dios!
Murderer! Murderer!”

A slap was heard, and then a man sobbing pitifully, and finally a voice in Spanish, “We wish to surrender. We are throwing our weapons out to you.”

Two muskets came out through the open door, followed by three men with their hands above their heads. In the darkness Creed couldn’t tell whether Antonio Guerrero was one of them or not.

“Tonio!” Sloan’s shrill voice pierced the night air. She broke from Cricket’s hold and raced toward the front of the adobe hut.

Creed moved quickly to intercept her and reached the three men about the same time as Sloan and Cricket did.

Sloan quickly searched the three faces—two unshaven ruffians and a soldier in Mexican uniform. She refused to admit Cricket’s accusation bore any merit. Tonio couldn’t be a spy for the Mexicans. He wouldn’t have used her for such purposes. Sloan whirled on Creed. “Where is he? What have you done to him?”

Creed grabbed Sloan’s shoulders in an attempt to stem her rising hysteria. “He was inside the hut, but—”

Sloan tried to jerk herself from Creed’s arms, but he tightened his hands to keep her from escaping.

“—if he’s still in there, Sloan, he’s dead,” Creed finished.

“Noooooo.”

“Take care of these three men,” Creed ordered the closest Ranger. “Luke, check and find out whether Guerrero’s inside.”

Luke disappeared inside the hut for only a moment before he returned to Creed. “He’s done for. The plans we’ve been looking for were next to his body.” He eyed the two bandidos who stood with the Mexican officer. “He was shot at close range,” he added.

“Creed!” Cricket’s warning came barely in time for Creed to catch Sloan as she fainted. He lifted her limp form into his arms and headed toward the horses. “You take care of things here, Luke. I’m going to take Sloan and Cricket home. And Luke . . .” Creed turned back to the young Ranger.

“Yes?”

“Have someone who speaks Spanish take Guerrero’s body home to his family. Tell his father I’ll come and explain what happened here.”

“Be sure to tell his
padre
he was murdered.” Captain Silvio glared at Alejandro, who shifted his gaze casually to Creed.

“He did not wish to surrender,” Alejandro said with a shrug. “I merely saved
Los Diablos Tejanos
the trouble of hanging him. I should be thanked.”

Creed shook his head, disgusted by the Mexican’s traitorous behavior, and by the fact he was unable to deny the truth of his words. By the time Creed reached the horses, Sloan had regained consciousness.

“Put me down.”

“You’re still a little weak. I—”

“Put me down.”

The Ranger answered Sloan’s growing agitation by releasing her. When she was steady on her feet he stepped back from her.

“You killed him,” she accused.

Creed removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “No, Sloan. He was killed by his own man.”

Sloan looked shocked. It was easier to be angry when she had a target upon whom to vent her rage. “Why did you come here in the first place? Tonio wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“I don’t enjoy being the one to tell you this, Sloan. Antonio Guerrero was a traitor. He worked for and with the Mexican government. He used you to deliver messages to this camp— messages full of information to help Mexico invade Texas.” Sloan continued shaking her head in denial as Creed added, “Antonio was surrounded but didn’t want to surrender, so his own man shot him and then surrendered himself. I’m sorry.”

Sloan’s face, pale in the moonlight, got even whiter. She turned to Cricket. “Tonio lied to me, Cricket.”

Cricket choked out, “I’m so sorry, Sloan. So sorry.” She, of all people, knew what Sloan was feeling now.

“Let me take you home, Sloan,” the Ranger said.

“I want to see Tonio,” she countered. “I have to see his face once more.”

“I’ve had his body sent home to his family,” Creed said, trying to deter Sloan from her goal.

“I’ll go there, then.”

Creed met Cricket’s eyes, asking if she could help convince her sister to change her mind.

“Think of the ba . . . think of your health, Sloan. You need to rest. You don’t want to take any chances now.”

Sloan’s pain-filled eyes met Cricket’s. Her determination wavered for a moment, then firmed again. “I want to see him one more time.”

“All right, all right,” Cricket soothed. “We’ll go home and get some sleep tonight and start for the Guerrero hacienda at first light.”

Creed opened his mouth to object to Cricket’s suggestion but closed it when she frowned at him behind Sloan’s back. Maybe Cricket had the right idea. Perhaps when Sloan had time to think the matter over she’d be more reasonable.

However, Sloan was no more reasonable at dawn than she’d been the night before. Cricket refused to let her sister travel alone in her distraught state, so Creed accompanied both women on the long ride to the Guerrero hacienda.

They rode through the hacienda’s fortress gates close to the noon hour, but there were none of the preparations under way that suggested the midday meal would be served anytime soon.

“It looks deserted,” Cricket said, fighting an unaccountable shiver.

Sloan said nothing, simply rode up to the house and dismounted. She left her mount ground-tied and crossed the porch to the front door, knocking loudly upon it. No one answered, so she knocked again, louder this time.

Cricket and Creed had dismounted and joined Sloan by the time a mestizo servant finally opened the door.

“We are not receiving visitors,” the old man said. “We are in mourning for the death of the
patrón
’s younger son.”

“I want to see Tonio,” Sloan said.

From the old man’s reaction, Sloan might have asked to see the devil. “But,
gringa
, you cannot—”

“I want to see Tonio!”

The old man started to close the door, and Creed put out a muscular arm to stop him.