Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (42 page)

      
Before he could reply, a set of determined women descended on them from the front door. “Your angels—or army—of mercy, I believe?” he said with a grin.

      
“Oh, Mrs. Gardner, Mrs. Sandoval,” Deborah exclaimed breathlessly, her mind going terrifyingly blank as the two ladies and their friends greeted her and looked questioningly at Rafael.
Ladies, may I present my dead husband. No, he doesn't look like a Boston Kensington, does he? He doesn't look bad for being exhumed either!

      
Rafe took off his hat and made a courtly bow to the assembly. “Ladies, you must forgive my wife. She's just sustained a great shock; she had believed me dead. We've only this day found each other after six years of bitter separation.”

      
For the rest of her life, Deborah would never remember how she dispatched the wonder-struck women on their mission, ushering them to the backyard where she and Rafael helped them load the boxes, kettles, and baskets of food into the wagon. Chester drove the whispering, tittering group to the Maverick House to feed the prisoners.

      
When Rafael addressed the women, Deborah's numb mind registered for the first time that he had lost his French accent. That silky, low voice spoke English with a faint Texas drawl! And the name—Fleming, Rafe Fleming.
I’m married to a total stranger.

      
If Deborah felt confused and fearful, so did Rafe. He made up a ludicrous story about Deborah being so grief-stricken when she thought him drowned in Mobile that she had changed her name so as not to be reminded of her tragic loss. Oddly enough, most of the women thought it romantic and sighed over the lovers' reunion. But how did Deborah feel? She had grown remarkably independent, efficiently ordering the women to their various tasks and acting as unruffled as could be when she presented him to Sadie and Chester. He was Mr. Fleming, her husband. But her unspoken message to them and to him was that they still worked for
Mrs.
Fleming!

      
He was proud of her but afraid of letting her have too much head here in her own element. Before he bared his soul to her and let her know how desperately he needed her, he wanted to take her home—to Renacimiento, to his world. Then, he would let down his defenses.

      
He stood on the porch watching her wave the ladies off, then walk toward the house. Just as he reached out his hand to assist her in climbing up the steps, a small bundle of squealing energy came thundering across the kitchen and out the backdoor.

      
Adam stopped short, eyeing the tall, dark gunman who had his hand clasped around his mama's arm. “Who are you, mister?” Protective and fascinated all at once, he strode manfully over and took Deborah's other hand.

      
Rafe looked at Deborah's stricken face. He desperately wanted to tell the boy the truth at once. Adam must learn sooner or later. What good would a lie do now? He settled for half the truth. “My name's Rafe Fleming and I own a big spread up north of here. I was just inviting your mother and you to come and see it.”

      
“You a
pistolero
?” Adam asked with awe in his voice as he looked at Rafe's weapons.

      
Smiling, he knelt down beside the boy and said, “Not really. Oh, it's sometimes dangerous when we go mustanging or on roundup, so I have to know how to use a gun and knife, but mostly I'm a stockman.”

      
“I got a friend named Wash Oakley who fought Comanche. You ever fight Comanche?” His big black eyes were aglow with excitement now.

      
Rafe smiled grimly. “Yes, I fought Comanche a time or two.”

      
Deborah stood rooted to the porch, watching the scene unfold. How alike they were, with their glowing black eyes and curly black hair. Every aquiline, chiseled feature of Rafael's face was mirrored in Adam's boyish face.

      
Rafe's chest felt caught in a vise as he lifted his son and carried the delighted child back into the kitchen. His son, in his arms, after all the years of waiting! Choking down the lump in his throat, he turned back to his wife and whispered low in her ear, ‘Thank you for Adam, Moon Flower, thank you.”

Chapter Twenty Three

      
“How long do you think it'll be before he learns for himself that I'm his father? Half of San Antonio probably knows by now.” Rafe and Deborah sat closeted in her study.

      
“No one in San Antonio would know if you hadn't told Mrs. Garner and those other women,” she said tightly.

      
“Considering the physical resemblance between us, how long do you think it would take those women to figure it out?” he shot back. “Sadie took one look at me and nodded as if she knew our whole history.’’

      
Deborah rubbed her temples to soothe her pounding head. She had been up since the gunfire started at daybreak. “You must forgive my deficient reasoning, Rafael. I guess an invasion and a resurrection in one day are a bit too much for a mere female.”

      
Rafe laughed softly. “Nothing, as nearly as I can see, my love, will ever be too much for a strong-willed Yankee like you to handle.”

      
“I'm a Texian now,” she said defensively.

      
“We have another thing in common,” he replied with a lazy grin. Then he became earnest. “No matter how much you want to shield him, Deborah, Adam is my son. Even if I lost my right to claim him because of the past, he deserves a father. A boy shouldn't grow up alone.”

      
She sighed and stood up, then began to pace. “So lots of folks have been telling me. Whalen, Obedience, even Sadie!”

      
“Whalen?” Rafe's brows rose.

      
“He owns a livery stable here in town. He's tried to court me,” she replied distractedly.

      
“Big, beefy fellow with a mustache? Stoop shouldered?” He recalled the fearful man's flight on the road. At her puzzled nod, he scoffed, “Some great father he'd make for my son!”

      
“I am heartily sick of your jealousy and possessiveness! If you want heirs for your cattle kingdom, why not continue your usual habits—you could have dozens by now!”
Damn! I won't show him my pain—not after all these years!

      
His eyes were shuttered as he replied, “I wouldn't even have to keep a mistress now, Deborah. No one in Texas knew I'd been married. I could have just taken another wife and had legal children—if that's all I cared about.”

      
As she recalled Obedience's similar advice to her, Deborah crimsoned in mortification and turned away to gaze out the window. “Considering this accidental encounter, I guess it's a good thing neither of us did that, isn't it?” she whispered.

      
“My finding you is more than any accidental encounter, Deborah. I've searched for six years. I never gave up. But that Pettyjohn boy told me you and your spinster lady friend went north from Austin's colony. I was just looking in the wrong places.”

      
Deborah whirled in amazement. “Thad Pettyjohn? He told you I'd gone north? And with a spinster lady?” She didn't know whether to laugh or cry over that spiteful boy's lies.

      
When her lips curled in a half wry smile, he felt a surge of anger. How could she think all these hellish, lonely years were anything to laugh about? “I fail to see the humor in six lost years,” he said stiffly.

      
Deborah considered. “No, I guess since I had Adam and you...you didn't, that it was more difficult for you. But—”

      
‘‘Maybe it was for the best?” he supplied. “It did give me time to grow up. But what about you, wife? Has any of that unbending Yankee stubbornness mellowed with age?” His black eyes searched her face.

      
What could she say? That she'd never stopped missing him? Thought of him every night in her big lonely bed? Loved him still? “Your idea of compromise seems rather one-sided. You plan to tell Adam you're his long-lost father and whisk us away to some wilderness ranch where you're in charge of everything.”

      
“Even if we stayed here, people would know we're married. They can see Adam is my son. Your child and your property under Texas law, just like American law, would automatically go to me,” he argued reasonably.

      
Deborah sighed, knowing it was true. At least she must spare their son the shock and hurt of learning the truth from outsiders. “Do you want to tell Adam or shall I?”

      
He walked over to her and put his arms around her gently, protectively, and stroked the long, silver hair falling down her back. “Let's tell him together, Moon Flower.” He tipped her chin up and forced her to meet his eyes. She nodded in resignation.

* * * *

      
“But where were you? Why wasn't—weren't you here with Mama 'n me?” Adam's small face was creased in puzzlement. Part of him was thrilled that the big
pistolero
was his papa, yet part of him was hurt for all the years of growing up knowing all the other kids had pas and he didn't.

      
Rafe knelt and reached out for Adam, who was regarding him warily. “Come here, son. It's a long story and maybe it'll be easier to tell if you sit on my lap while your mother and I explain.” Rafe held his breath as the boy hesitated, then reached out and clasped the large brown hand in his small one. Adam allowed his father to lead him to a big leather chair across the room.

      
As Rafe met Deborah's eyes, a great deal was understood, and misunderstood as well. He began by telling the boy about what different worlds his parents grew up in and how hard it was for her to be happy in New Orleans where the customs and language were all foreign. “I couldn't live in Boston and your mama couldn't live in New Orleans. But Texas was a good place for us to start over—all new to both of us. But there was a revolution—a big war in 1836—”

      
“That's when I was born,” Adam interjected excitedly.

      
Rafe nodded. “During that war and all its confusion your mother got lost from me. Neither of us knew where the other was. I've been searching all over Texas for you both ever since, and now I've found you. I'm only sorry it took so long, son. Will you forgive me?”

      
“Sure, Papa,” Adam said, throwing his arms around Rafe's neck for a fierce hug.

      
As Rafe squeezed his eyes tightly shut and hugged the boy back, Deborah watched them.
How can I ever separate you two again? But how can I give our lives over to you, Rafael? How can I trust you?

      
Deborah dreaded dinner that night but knew she must face up to it. She had already told Sadie and Chester about Rafael. Now she would have to tell the boarders. If only Charlee were here, she thought forlornly, then reconsidered. She could not involve her friend in such a tangle.

      
Charlee had troubles enough of her own these days. A little over two weeks ago a deadly comanchero had nearly abducted the girl. Only Jim Slade's timely intervention had saved Charlee from an unthinkable fate. Something mysterious was going on between Slade and the gamin girl who had become such a close friend and confidant. Deborah could not get to the bottom of it; and Jim had refused to explain, only saying that he was taking Charlee back to Bluebonnet where she'd be safe with him until matters were settled.

      
Deborah suspected the two had been lovers, despite Jim's engagement to Tomasina Carver; but Charlee had not confided this to her and she had felt too embarrassed to pry.
Now if I were Obedience, I’d have no qualms about meddling,
she thought wryly as she helped Sadie put the final touches on their dinner. Then, she realized that she had never confessed her real feelings for Rafael to Obedience. A new wave of empathy for Charlee swept over her.

      
Miss Clemson nearly had the vapors when the darkly menacing stranger took his place at the head of the table with Adam that night. Deborah was thankful Rafael had at least shaven and shed his arsenal before coming to dinner. Most of the boarders were surprised but pleased at his improbably concocted tale about their separation and joyous reunion. By the end of the meal, she was certain Kensington's was now Fleming's in everyone's mind.

      
Helping Sadie serve and clear the table gave her some chance to work off her tensions as she thought of the night ahead.
I'll put him in Charlee’s room, that's what. No one need know we aren't sleeping together.

      
“Doan be worryin' ‘bout them dishes, Miz Deborah.” Sadie shooed her from the kitchen. “Yo got yo man ta take ca'ah o' now!” She laughed as Deborah reddened and turned to leave the room.

      
“I'll go upstairs and see to Adam,” Deborah said primly. But Rafael had already beaten her to it. She found father and son sitting on the bed. Rafael was telling Adam about being with the Comanches.

      
“And you were a horse trainer for Iron Hand?” His eyes were enormous.

      
Rafael made a scoffing noise. “I worked my way up—remember? First, I was the water boy for his wife until I took a chance and jumped on that white stallion. Regardless, I was still only a slave until I escaped.”

      
“Perhaps it served to give you some empathy for the runaways from the sugar plantations,” Deborah said tartly from the door.

      
Rafe turned and looked up at her. “As a matter of fact, it did,” was all he said before turning back to Adam. “Now under the covers for you, young man. It's past your bedtime.”