Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (45 page)

      
After the evening meal, Rafe went to check on Bostonian. Deborah busied herself with clearing the kitchen. When she and Sadie were through, she shooed the old woman off to bed and sat down to plan menus for the rest of the week. Finding it difficult to concentrate, she rubbed her temples and reapplied herself. Just then a small tap sounded on the backdoor and a familiar voice said, “Oh, thank heavens you're here and all right!”

      
“Charlee! How did you get into San Antonio?” Deborah rushed over to embrace her friend, who was dressed once more in the same scrofulous boy's clothing she'd given up months earlier.

      
“Sometimes it pays to dress like a boy, especially if you're an old squirrel hunter on a secret mission in the dead of night!” She hugged Deborah.

      
“But there are sentries posted everywhere and they have orders to shoot anyone out after curfew.”

      
“They have to see you to shoot. Hell, Deborah, I could take any of those sappers into the best squirrel woods in St. Genevieve and they'd never bag a thing! Anyway, I'm real good at squeezing through small places.”

      
“Still, it's dangerous. Now that you're here, you'll have to stay, unless Jim is—”

      
“Jim isn't with me,” Charlee interrupted, dashing Deborah's hopes that they might flee to Bluebonnet and elude Rafael. “He'd skin me if he knew I sneaked in here. He and Lee are off chasing Comanches. We only got word today that the city was occupied. I came right away. Is Adam all right?”

      
“Yes, he's fine. Overjoyed, in fact.” Her voice betrayed her agitation, as did the nervous lacing and unlacing of her fingers.

      
“Those Mexican soldiers really have you strung up tight, haven't they?”

      
“Oh, Charlee, it isn't that, it's—oh, you have to get out of here. It isn't safe. You'll be missed at Bluebonnet.”

      
Rafe interrupted her, saying, “I second the motion.” His eyes met Deborah's with a knowing glance. She'd run to her friend's ranch if she could! He looked at the slight girl dressed in baggy men's clothing. Observing them hug, he knew this must be Charlee. Grinning at the awestruck way she surveyed him, he put one arm around Deborah's waist.

      
“Who are you?” the girl asked in a small voice.

      
His eyes commanded Deborah to answer for him.
You must face reality, Deborah.
He could feel her take a deep breath as she replied, “Charlee, this is Rafael Beaurivage Flamenco, my husband.”

      
“Also known as Rafe Fleming,” he said, smiling.

      
“You're Adam's father! But how—why...?”

      
“It's late and we have a long ride tomorrow, Miss—you never did introduce her to me, wife,” he teased Deborah, knowing full well this girl's identity, wanting to let neither female off the hook.

      
“Charlee McAllister,” the younger woman shot back forthrightly. “I used to work for Deborah. She and Adam are my friends.”

      
There was a definite note of warning in her voice. Rafe respected such valor from one so tiny; but before he could frame a conciliatory reply, Adam came racing down the hall.

      
Catapulting into his father's arms, he cried, “Papa! You been gone!”

      
Deborah took Charlee's arm. “I'll explain it to you later, Charlee. Can you get her safely out of here, Rafael?”

      
“It'll be no problem. I have a safe conduct from the general. I should be able to escort an old family friend back to
his
parents,” he said, teasing once more.

      
“How did you get a pass—oh!” Charlee flushed and stopped.

      
Rafe's answer was cold. “You're mistaken in your assumption, Miss McAllister. I'm not part of General Woll's army, regular or irregular, merely a Texian rancher from up north.”

      
Bitterly, Deborah added, “What Rafael means is that he's from an old Creole family in New Orleans. As one of French and Spanish ancestry, he has no love for the Yankee usurpers in Texas.”

      
Rafe grunted in disgust, “At least that's what the general thinks; and I'd be a fool to disabuse him, wouldn't I, love?” He tousled Adam's hair and said, “Now, why don't you see to getting your friend some food and a place to rest while I tuck this sleepy young rascal in?” As he turned to leave with Adam's head drooping on his shoulder, he couldn't resist one parting shot. “I'll be waiting for you in our bedroom.”

      
He could just imagine the tale of betrayal and cruelty his wife would tell her friend. Forcing down the bitter lump in his throat, Rafe carried Adam up to bed and tucked him in. Already the boy was nodding off, but then he raised his head to ask, “Wasn't that Aunt Charlee or did I just dream her?”

      
Rafe smiled and said, “Yep, it was her, but she just came to see if you and your mother were all right. She's leaving in the morning, son. Now go to sleep.”

      
He sat with Adam until the boy was soundly asleep. Then he went down the hall to the men's washroom and soaked his tired body in a hot tub. Damn, Flores was right. He had felt an aching sweat to kill the bastard this morning. He sighed and tried to relax. “And now my wife's blackening my already dubious name even more.” He pondered how to handle tonight.

      
Deborah was considering the same thing while she gave Charlee an edited version of how she met and married Rafael. She simply told her friend that they disagreed over a wife's role. The fact that she was neither southern, Catholic, nor Creole had led to their separation.

      
Charlee tried to console her, contrasting Rafael's single-minded pursuit of his wife with Jim Slade's cavalier attitude toward her, but Deborah could not overcome her uneasiness about spending another night with Rafael.

      
Just then, Rafael returned, obviously freshly bathed. Droplets of water clung to the gleaming black curls at his temples and nape where he had not toweled them dry. He wore soft moccasins and his shirt was unlaced. “Past time for bed, wife,” he said in a whisper-soft voice, laden with insinuation.

      
Rafe reached out and put his hands on Deborah's shoulders, kneading softly, caressing across the delicate pattern of her collarbone, around the nape of her neck. Almost unconsciously, without willing it, she yielded to his soft, subtle pressure, savoring the stroking of his callused fingers.

      
“Adam's sound asleep and I'm sure after her adventure, Charlee here is tired. Better show her to her room.” He smiled, sure it was the room Deborah had planned for him to occupy.

      
“I guess I am tired,” Charlee ventured, aware of the tension between Rafe and Deborah. “I know the way to my old room and I can help myself to sheets and make up my bed.”

      
Deborah felt she was being deserted, yet at the same time she wanted Rafael's hands on her, hypnotically weaving their spell. Just then, as Charlee left, Chester came into the kitchen. Nervously, he cleared his throat to get Mr. Fleming's attention. Rafe turned and asked, '‘What's wrong, Chester?”

      
It's as if he's in charge here, not me
, Deborah thought resentfully. While he and Rafael discussed one of the wagon mares who was ailing, Deborah wandered off to the porch.
He has Adam, my employees, and my boarders on his side. Even Charlee backs off from him. Oh, damn him, why does he take over everything in my life? I never touched his life this way!

      
Rafe could tell by the stiff set of her shoulders that she was tense and angry. He slipped silently from the kitchen and came up behind her, cupping her shoulders in his hands as he whispered into her neck, “Hiding out here won't solve anything, Deborah. If I have to, I'll carry you kicking and screaming to bed; boarders, neighbors, the whole Mexican army be damned.”

      
She stiffened even more. “I am not hiding.” She moved quickly from his embrace and turned to face him. “I just wanted a breath of fresh air before retiring.”

      
He snorted in disbelief at her primly affected air. “Come here, wife,” he commanded softly, seductively. Rafe held his breath and waited for her, willing her to make the first move, exerting iron will not to reach for her before she touched him first.
You want this as much as I, Moon Flower.

      
As if in a drugged trance, Deborah complied, her steps halting and slow until she stood very close to him, placing her trembling hands on his chest.

      
Unable to hold back any longer, he crushed her to him and swooped down to feast on her slender neck, raining kisses across her throat and up to her ears, temples, eyelids. Then, feeling her arms tighten around his neck and her fingers tangle in his hair, he growled low and ravaged her mouth. With a small whimper of surrender, she opened to his sensual onslaught and kissed him back. Their tongues dueled, twining together, probing and exploring until they were both trembling. Rafe tangled his hands in the long silvery skein of her hair, pulling on it, tipping her head back in submission. Their bodies pressed intimately one against the other. Finally, he broke the fierce kiss with a ragged sigh but still held Deborah tightly to him.

      
Sobbing, she choked out, “You may have taught me desire, but you care nothing for my spirit, my soul.”

      
Her desolation tore at him and he gasped out in pain, “It is your spirit, your very soul that I wish to possess most of all, Deborah.”

      
“Then you will leave me nothing,” she whispered on the still night air, unable to relinquish the warmth of his embrace, holding fast to him.

      
“Then it's an even trade, for you have left me nothing, Moon Flower,” he murmured against her throat as he swept her up and carried her into the house.

* * * *

      
“Just because his wife is Anglo does not mean he is a spy, Captain,” Adrian Woll said speculatively as he paced from behind the small desk in the sitting room converted into an office. Flores had been hounding him to arrest Rafael Flamenco for two days, just as Flamenco wanted him to arrest Flores. He sighed. “I know you and he have quarreled over the woman. Is there perhaps more to this feud than simple rivalry?”

      
Enrique Flores took a deep breath to calm himself. Woll had been a professional soldier for three countries. He did not get to the rank of general by being a fool or a poor judge of men. He had on several occasions made his distaste for the irregulars quite clear. If Woll knew Enrique was a comanchero, it might prove fatal. Flores must proceed very cautiously.

      
“My distrust of Flamenco, General, goes back many years to Nacogdoches. He and several of his friends picked a fight with me in a bar and beat me almost to death. He is a coward and a traitor.”

      
“Odd, that a man of such obvious education and refinement should be living in this wilderness,” Woll speculated aloud.

      
Flores pounced. “Yes, consider, if he is really from a distinguished New Orleans family, what is he doing here in San Antonio? And why do all the Anglos in town call him Rafe Fleming, not Rafael Flamenco? His wife is a Yankee who consorts with prisoners and insurrectionists. I've had her boardinghouse watched. Late last night a messenger of some sort slipped in and met with Fleming and his wife.”

      
At this, Woll's head jerked to attention. “Why wasn't I notified at once? I've left strict orders about curfews and men slipping in and out of the city.”

      
Flores spread his hands in a placating gesture. “All I know so far is that one man on foot slipped through the guards and entered the boardinghouse. I have two of my best men watching this morning to see what they do next.”

      
“Indeed. See to it that I'm informed of what transpires, Captain. Dismissed.” Woll watched the guerilla salute and leave his presence. He sat on the large sofa in the corner of the room and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Christ! How he hated having scum like Flores in his command, but his orders had been explicit. He was to use the irregulars who raided along the border and dealt with the savages, but every professional instinct he possessed made him recoil from consorting with banditti who preyed on their own people.

      
He made a snap decision. Ringing for an orderly, he sent for one of his own trusted officers. “I want Mrs. Kensington or Fleming, whatever she calls herself now, watched. See who comes and goes and report everything to me, including what Captain Flores and his agents do.”
      
Captain Rodriguez saluted his general smartly and left to follow orders.

* * * *

      
When Rafe awakened that morning he found Deborah sleeping soundly by his side. He propped his head up on one hand and watched her beautiful, expressive face. In sleep; it looked guileless and childlike; but he knew once she awakened, her eyes would cloud with guilt and self-accusation.
She comes to me in passion she can't deny, but I'm not reaching her. She sees only a dangerous stranger and remembers only a selfish boy.

      
Praying that time together, spent building Renacimiento and raising Adam, might allow her to love and trust without reservation, Rafe quietly slipped from bed. He would let her sleep a bit longer. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes. Smiling, he recalled their loving of the night before. She had good reason to be tired!

      
When he arrived in the dining room with Adam in tow, breakfast was almost ready. Charlee McAllister had helped Sadie prepare a feast. Watching Charlee’s efficient movements, Rafe admired her grit. She had disguised herself as a boy and slipped into town through Woll's lines. Still, he had to get her out before she was discovered and jailed as a spy or some such nonsense. He cursed the danger from Flores and the ill-timing of Charlee's arrival.