Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (44 page)

      
Rafe sauntered from the room after unbolting the door. Then, he paused at the sill for an instant to whisper, “And don't ever lock a door against me again. Adam wouldn't like the explanation I'd give him for breaking it in!”

      
Rafe cajoled his son into cleaning his teeth and even washing his face, loathsome tasks for a six-year-old boy. As he combed Adam's unruly, black hair back and gave a mock inspection, he realized how much he had missed of his son's life. He could not bear to think of losing either the boy or his mother now.

      
Yet he knew he had handled things badly with Deborah this morning. He swore to himself.
Adam needs a man's hand, dammit. She's coddling him.
Only just now, he had learned the boy had never been up on a pony! Every Creole boy received his first pony as soon as he could sit up and hold on, one of the few things they had in common with Texians. He would remedy that as soon as they arrived at Renacimiento.

      
“How would you like to go with me down to the stables later this afternoon and meet Bostonian?” Rafe asked the squirming child as he finished combing his hair.

      
Adam's eyes lit up. “The big sorrel stallion you told me about! Oh, yessiree!”

      
Ignoring Sadie's smirking expression when she made her tardy appearance in the kitchen, Deborah began pulling tins of biscuits from the oven and piling links of browned sausage onto a large platter. As she took the food to the dining room, she noticed Rafael and Racine Schwartz lounging in the front hall, talking intently.

      
“You watch thet polecat, Mr. Fleming, mark me. No more'n Miz Deborah went out ta see thet General Woll, thet Flores feller come sniffin' back here right after her like a randy mustang. He's a rattler.”

      
“You say he was out back again this morning?” Rafe asked casually.

      
“Yep. Askin' the hired man Chester if ‘n yew'n Miz Deborah wuz really married 'n where wuz yew now—real nosy like. ‘Course, Chester didn't tell him nothin' 'n I come out fer my mornin' trip ta the jakes 'n run him off good 'n proper,” the old man finished with glittering eyes. He patted an ancient flintlock pistol inside his coat pocket.

      
Rafe nodded, realizing that by acknowledging Deborah as his wife, he had put her and Adam in grave danger. Flores would not hesitate to use them as pawns to gain an advantage in killing the man who had sworn vengeance against him.

      
“I'm meeting the general today. Think I'll inquire about Enrique's job assignment while I'm there,” he said to Schwartz.

      
Deborah overheard and felt a premonition of dread. She swept into the hall. “Do you know this Captain Flores, Rafael?”

      
“Let's just say I bear him a grudge,” he replied evenly.

      
“You're going to kill him, aren't you?” Looking at his shuttered, hard features, she knew it was so.

Chapter Twenty Four

      
“I understand you have an Enrique Flores under your command?” Rafe said casually as he speared a piece of the excellent rare beef General Woll's cook had prepared for their noon meal.

      
The Frenchman paused to think for a moment as he sipped some wine. “Ah yes, a captain, one of the irregulars who volunteered under Colonel Antonio Perez. But of what interest is he to you?” Woll’s gaze was keenly assessing.

      
Sidestepping the question, Rafe replied, “I told you that I have been reunited with my wife and son who were separated from me during the insurrection in 1836.” He paused, then continued, “It was quite a surprise after six years to find them here.”

      
“A joyous one, I am certain,” Woll added. “Having met your lady, I can certainly attest to her beauty.”

      
“That's part of the problem,” Rafe said carefully. “You see, her beauty is what has drawn Flores to her.”

      
“If Captain Flores’s conduct toward your wife has been in any way improper, Mister Flamenco, I will take steps—”

      
“No, please, I assure you, General, I do not want any misunderstanding between the military and the citizenry during such a volatile time. The captain did not realize Madame Fleming was married when he paid her compliments. If you would be so kind as to explain to him that she is under your protection, I'm quite certain the matter need go no further.” As the general nodded in understanding, Rafe breathed a sigh of relief. Such a reprimand would put Flores on guard against involving Deborah and Adam in his schemes. First Rafe must get his family to safety, then he'd deal with Enrique.

      
“I regret there is no word of your sister and that Anglo villain, Mister Fleming.”

      
Rafe shrugged expressively. “So do I, but I have searched so many places, I was doubtless merely on another false trail this time. But it was a kind fate that brought me to San Antonio and reunited me with my wife and son.”

      
As his orderly poured more wine and cleared the table, Adrian Woll thought it most odd that a man like Rafael Flamenco should have such difficulty keeping track of the female members of his family. But he forbore mentioning it.

* * * *

      
“I have a responsibility to those prisoners and I won't shirk my duty because of some petty vendetta between you and Captain Flores,” Deborah stormed at her husband that evening on the back porch of the boardinghouse.

      
“The man is a deadly killer, a comanchero. You've lived in Texas for six years. You know what that means,” he replied levelly.

      
Remembering the big ugly brute who had abducted Charlee, Deborah shivered in revulsion. “I know what kind of men comancheros are, but I don't see that Flores fits the mold. You hate him for some other reason and I don't want to get involved in it.”

      
He gritted his teeth in impatience. “You are involved in it simply because you're my wife. He'll use you and Adam to get at me. That's why you have to stay away from the prisoners. Flores is in charge of them.”

      
“I can't hide in the house and hope they'll leave, Rafael. You've made friends with General Woll. Ask him to deal with the captain,” she said, her voice laced with scorn.

      
“For what it's worth, I did tell Woll that Flores was enamored of you and the general said he'd reprimand him. But that doesn't mean it's safe for you to parade around the streets.”

      
She put her hands on her hips. “Oh, so now we're down to it! Parade around the streets—unescorted. I've been on my own for the past six years, Rafael, making my own way, unescorted, unchaperoned. I'm not the twenty-year-old girl who fled New Orleans in tears six years ago.”

      
He smiled crookedly and pulled her close to him as he said, “I know you've changed and I’m not trying to crush your Texas spirit, Deborah. I want you the way you are—but I want you safe, dammit,” he rasped out as he bent his head to kiss her.

      
For a moment she struggled to resist the hard, warm demands of his mouth and hands, then she gave in, kissing him back fiercely. Only when she heard Sadie's arthritic shuffling across the kitchen floor did she pull herself free of his arms. “I have to prepare the food. I'll let Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Sandoval take it to the prisoners tonight.”

      
By mid-morning of the next day their truce was broken. “What the hell do you mean, she went with Dr. Weidermann?” Rafe demanded of Racine Schwartz. “Can't I leave her unattended for an hour without her doing something crazy!”

      
“Tried my damndest ta stop her, but her 'n thet Rooshin doc, they skeedaddled out ta tend one 'o them fellers shot durin' th' fight ta take th' city. I come ta tell ya soon's they left,” the old man said defensively. He'd hobbled fast as he could from the boardinghouse to the livery where Rafe was grooming Bostonian.

      
“Mama always goes with the doc. She's his best nurse,” Adam piped up. He was clutching a curry comb in his hand, his small face creased in worried puzzlement at his father's anger.

      
“Please take Adam back to the boardinghouse, Racine. I'll see that his mother's all right,” Rafe said, ignoring the boy's remarks as he turned and walked swiftly from the stable toward the Main Plaza.

      
The physician's brow was furrowed in concentration as he swabbed carefully around the stitches. The wounded man lay patiently on a kitchen table in the Maverick house, where the San Antonio defenders had been imprisoned.

      
“Ow, doc, that don't feel so good,” Walt Mabry groused.

      
“But it heals cleanly. That is of utmost importance.” Dr. Weidermann’s English was precise and careful, tinged with a slight European accent of uncertain origin. “Mrs. Ken—Fleming, please give me the salve.”

      
Deborah felt herself redden as she handed the doctor a vial of strong, smelly cream.
Everyone in town knows about Rafael and me.
She swore to herself, looking nervously over her shoulder to watch for Captain Flores. She felt uneasy about slipping out to make these rounds with the doctor, but she was his only experienced nurse. And in her heart of hearts, Deborah confessed that she had wanted to show her husband that she had a life of her own.

      
When they finished their rounds in the makeshift infirmary, she walked toward the boardinghouse. Deep in thought, Deborah did not hear the footsteps approaching until a whispery voice caused her to gasp and look up.

      
“So preoccupied, Mrs. Fleming. A lady requires an escort on the street, especially such a beautiful lady who does not look where she walks.” Enrique Flores stared intently into her eyes as he reached out to take her arm proprietarily.

      
“My only requirement, Captain, is that you unhand me—at once,” Deborah replied levelly.

      
Flores's black eyes danced, but their reflection was eerily cold and flat, like the sound of his laughter. “I do not think so. I always had a preference for blondes, but finding out you belong to Rafael Flamenco—well, that sweetens the bargain.” Rather than releasing her, Flores's grip on her arm tightened as he began to shove her toward a ramshackle house whose door stood ajar.

      
Frantically. Deborah looked around the deserted street. With the martial law, few people ventured abroad unless absolutely necessary. The neighborhood through which she was walking was empty and several houses stood vacant.
Stupid fool, Rafael was right!
she chastised herself as she tried to twist away from Flores' reptilian menace. Her shoes were hard leather, sensible for walking; and when she connected one foot squarely with his shin, he let out a grunt of surprised pain. Deborah raised her arm, hoping to rake her nails across his face; but the embattled pair was interrupted by a low, cutting voice that stilled their struggle.

      
“Let her go, Flores. I'd hate for you to die so quick and painless.” The command was accompanied by a sharp jab from the barrel of a .36 caliber Patterson Colt pressing against Flores's neck.

      
Rafe had come upon them, silent as a Comanche. Every nerve in his body screamed to kill his enemy, but he realized the folly of shooting one of Woll's captains in broad daylight. He'd stand before a firing squad within twenty-four hours for such a breach.

      
Flores grinned evilly as he released Deborah. “You ache to kill me, eh? I can tell. See, your hand shakes from holding back; but we must both respect our supreme commander, musn't we?”

      
“Don't push it, Flores,” Rafe breathed, removing the cold steel barrel from the Mexican's neck.

      
Flores shrugged and backed off. “You can't shoot me in such a public place, my friend. Until a more opportune time, eh?” He tipped his hat to Deborah with mocking politeness and ambled away.

      
As she faced her husband's anger, Deborah repressed a shudder.

      
“I asked you not to go out. Now perhaps you see why?” Rafe took her in his arms, but she pushed away.

      
“You commanded me not to ‘walk the streets unchap-eroned’,” she replied, feeling petty even as she spoke the words.

      
He leaned against the side of the building and pushed his hat back on his head. “He probably wouldn't have killed you—just roughed you up, maybe raped you, then sent you back to me with a message.”

      
“If you're trying to frighten me, it's working,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice level and to match his apparent calmness. “Why does he hate you so much?”

      
Rafe shrugged. “He stole my guns and supplies, killed my men, and sold me to the Comanche six years ago. He did it for money, but I don't think that was all. His kind likes to see people bleed. He stayed for the torture that night. He probably—” Seeing the look of dawning horror in her eyes, he stopped and reached out once more. “Let's just go back to the boardinghouse for now. You stay put and watch Adam closely.” At her wide-eyed look of terror, he nodded. “Yes, he'd try to get to me through my son, too. You have to let me handle this, Deborah.” When he put his arm around her this time, she did not resist. They walked quickly toward home.

      
As evening fell, Deborah's nervousness increased with the darkness. She must spend another night in Rafael's arms, drawn more closely to him, revealing all her want, loneliness, need, all the things she had buried for so long.
How can I trust him?
she cried to herself. And the night taunted in return,
How can you deny him?