﻿“What do you believe in, then, Mr Dumont? Or are you just as you seem—a shiftless drifter?” Irritation coloured her face.

He appreciated her passion. With her face flushed and her eyes flashing midnight fire, he appreciated it a whole lot. But the subject was getting more serious than he cared for, reminding him he had a mission to accomplish. Beautiful señorita or not, he couldn’t forget that.

“I resent being called a drifter on such short acquaintance,” he said. “You know nothing about my plans.”

“Plans?” She shrugged. “I too have those. But what is it you believe in?”

Jake stood, and moved his gaze to Juan, Diego, and then back to rest on hers.

“Señorita—I believe in staying alive. Other than that? Not a damn thing.”

She rose to her feet, her eyes shooting daggers.

“Then you have no soul, Señor Dumont.”

His brother had said as much the day he took off. Jake met her angry gaze with a sardonic smile. “I know.”

Author Note

The history of the Alamo has always fascinated me—especially stories of the Mexicans who fought beside the Anglo defenders against their own countrymen. Although my main characters are fictional, there are many real historical figures in this novel. Writing about the Alamo cannot be done without mentioning Travis, Bowie, Crockett, Seguín—or General Antonio López de Santa Anna. The part played by Francita Alavez, the young woman in Goliad, is also well-documented. It is with utmost respect that I have included them in my story, keeping as historically accurate as my research allowed. Any errors are completely mine.

I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me at PO Box 606, Rockton, IL 61072, USA, or contact me through my website at www.kathrynalbright.com

Happy Reading!

Kathryn Albright, the daughter of a naval officer and a doll doctor, grew up in San Diego, the setting for this story. Her journey to publication has included graduating from college, writing magazine articles and reading voraciously. She currently resides in the Midwest of America, with her husband and three sons.

A recent novel from Kathryn Albright:

THE ANGEL AND THE OUTLAW

(part of a special volume On Mothering Sunday)

THE REBEL AND THE LADY

Kathryn Albright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my husband Dean, who loves stories of the west as much as I do.

Here’s your western, honey…

Chapter One

January, 1836—Southern Texas Territory

The ground shook.

Victoria Torrez jerked awake from a dreamless sleep and glanced about her room. Nothing was out of place. The full moon shining through her window cast shadows of bare branches on the plaster walls. What had woken her?

She swung her feet onto the tile floor and tiptoed to the window. Nothing moved in the blue moonlight. A heavy frost covered the ground near the hacienda, unusual for this time of year, but then it had been an unusually cold, dry winter. The bats that lived along the Rio Grande had long since flown south. Even the owl that hooted in the ancient oak tree was still.

Too quiet.

Her senses heightened, she moved to the opposite window to search the courtyard.

It came to her then—a steady, rhythmic trembling like thunder in the wake of an approaching storm. Her heart took up the cadence as she held her breath and listened, trying to understand what was happening.

The iron latch on her door jiggled. “Victoria? Wake up!” her mother urged with a frantic edge to her voice as she stepped into the room.

Grabbing her robe from the back of a chair and stuffing her arms into the sleeves, Victoria secured the tie around her waist. “I’m awake. What is it?”

“El Presidente has come.”

Victoria’s stomach lurched. “No! Santa Anna? It cannot be!” Then soldiers marched across their land! How many must there be to make the ground tremble?

Mama joined her and together they peered outside.

Victoria’s father stood on the far side of the ornate iron gate that closed off the courtyard. His back was to them, and although he’d dressed hastily with his shirt hanging loose rather than tucked into his pantalones, his stance was wide and proud. His breath rose, a warm vapor in the cold air, as he spoke to another man who held himself tall, chin up, his feathered hat tucked in his arm. The stranger wore a dark uniform with brass buttons that gleamed in the moonlight and a sword at his side. Not Santa Anna. She had seen a painting of El Presidente once when she visited Monterrey. Perhaps this was an emissary.

Behind him, she could barely make out the gray forms of more soldiers standing in rows. With the low mist creeping from the river, her eyes failed to see beyond the third line of men, but there must be more. From what she’d heard, the general’s army was vast.

The two men spoke softly at first and Victoria could hear only the low tones, unable to differentiate the words. Then their voices rose to an angered pitch. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, worried that next they would come to blows or worse. A heavy silence hovered while each man weighed the other’s intent. After a moment, the officer bowed stiffly and retreated. Her father turned away, an uncharacteristic slump to his shoulders.

This couldn’t be happening! “Santa Anna was to come in the spring—and by boat,” Victoria murmured, still unable to believe what was before her.

“We will not see Monterrey now,” Mama said, her hands clasped and trembling around her beaded rosary.

Father had planned to take the family safely to his brother’s house before the army came. Victoria had spoken against it. She did not want to leave the cattle and horses to be used by the Mexican army. She would not hand over anything to them so easily.

Heavy footsteps in the great hall startled them both. Mama stepped forward and wrapped the ends of her heavy shawl across her chest, a five-foot, one-inch formidable fortress. Searching for a quick weapon, Victoria grabbed the silver letter opener from her writing desk and hid it within the folds of her robe. She moved next to her mother. Steadying her breathing, she prayed fervently the intruder was simply their cook.

The door swung open.

“Esteban!” His name rushed from her lips as she recognized her childhood friend. His face was more angular now, more mature than when she’d last seen him in the summer. “What are you doing here?” The moment the words were uttered she realized he wore a soldier’s uniform and carried a pistol in his hand. A sinking sensation settled in her chest. He’d joined the Mexican army.

Darting a quick look around the bedroom he strode toward them, the sharp planes of his face stern. “Señora Torrez, Victoria—you must get out of here.”

“But this is my home,” Victoria said, raising her chin. “I will fight for it.”

His dark eyes flashed as he gripped her shoulders with his long fingers. “I have seen the army. There are too many coming.”

“And you have made it one more.” She shrugged out of his grasp, not caring that the anger in her voice was audible. How dare he do this! And now she realized the clothes he wore were not those of a common soldier. From the crown of the golden helmet protecting his head all the way to the bottom of his polished black leather boots, authority oozed from every inch of him. Gold epaulets padded both shoulders of his dark blue coat and a sword with a brass hilt hung from his belt. Of course that would be the way of it. He was not a common man, after all, but one of the aristocracy of Mexico.

“Why, Esteban? Why did you do such a thing? You come now to fight against my family and steal our land? Land that has been ours for generations.”

His closed expression gave his answer before he spoke. “You had a chance to save this land, and gain more besides. But you refused me, remember? My offer of marriage did not agree with you.”

Beneath his hard facade she could see the hurt her rejection had caused. In his eyes she caught a glimmer of what looked like…hope.

Even now.

“I explained my reason. I will not have my future arranged for me. I will choose my own husband.”

“Your father has been too lenient with you.”

“I am his only child. Can you blame him for doting? I know you, Esteban. You would do the same with your daughter.” She’d hoped by being honest they could remain friends. She cared for him—but as a brother.

Moving to her bureau, she opened a small drawer and removed the engagement ring he had given her on her twenty-first birthday. She held it out until he reluctantly raised his hand for it. As she folded his fingers around the cold metal with her own she beseeched him. “You have always been a good friend. Do not ruin that now.”

For a moment he struggled with her answer, but then with his hand resting on the brass hilt of his sword, he hardened his jaw. “Now I choose my own path. In honor of my gentleman status, El Presidente has given me a commission in his army. I command a contingent of dragoons.”

“Then you had better get back to them,” a deep voice said from behind him.

Esteban spun around, whipping up his pistol as he turned.

“No!” Victoria jumped forward, pushing the gun to the side. “What are you doing? You know my father! Often you have sat at our table.”

Esteban pushed her aside, out of his way, but never lost sight of the man before him. “Stay back.” He brought his gun back up and trained it on the man before him.

Her father spoke first, his voice calm but steely. “Do you come as a friend to this house, Esteban? Or as the enemy?”

The air charged with electricity as they faced each other—a Tejano believing Tejas deserved its freedom, and a Mexican patriot trying to quell a rebellious uprising, one that threatened to split the country in two. There would never be a middle ground. The time for that had passed long ago.

Slowly, cautiously, Esteban holstered his gun and removed his hat, tucking it under his arm. Then, in the way of the dons, gentleman to gentleman, he bowed to her father. “Señor Torrez. It is with relief that I find you well.”

“And you, too, Esteban Castillo,” Father said, making an equally cautious bow.

“Surely you understand the danger of the situation. You are no longer a young man and there are too many soldiers for you to fight.”

“Your General Romero has asked politely enough if his army can camp on my land, eat my grain and slaughter my livestock. He, of course, wants the hacienda for himself and his officers. I suppose that means you.” Sarcasm thickened her father’s voice.

“If you agree to this, he will count you as loyal to Santa Anna and leave you unharmed with only the loss of a few chickens. Refuse him, and you and your family are dead.”

“I understand these things,” Father growled. “I have considered long on what could happen should he come here, but I was not prepared to see him in winter. What general marches his soldiers at winter’s end when there is little stored grain for food and little protection from the weather?”

“One who understands the use of surprise as a weapon.”

Father’s gaze was cold. “Or one who cares little for those he commands.” He turned to contemplate Mama and then her, his face drawn. “I thought he would come by boat, not march so many across this harsh land.”

She stepped forward, afraid for what she saw in his eyes—so close to despair. “Your way made more sense, Papa.” She took his hand.

“I thought there was time to take my family to safety in the spring.” He placed his free hand over hers and squeezed. Searching her face, his gaze lighted on her with love—and worry. “But now there is no time.”

Esteban watched him dispassionately. “Then you know what you must do.”

Father’s jaw clenched. “I will do what I must to survive this. To keep my family safe.”

“What are you saying?” Victoria asked. Father was a proud man. He believed in the cause—a free Texas. They had talked of it often in his study and when riding across the ranch together.

He released her hand. “We will submit.”

“You would give up everything to protect us?”

She couldn’t let that happen. His dream was her dream. She loved this land. She couldn’t let him give up his beliefs because of worry for her. “No, Papa. Commancheros, droughts, fires—there have been many enemies over the years. Santa Anna is but one more.”

“A most formidable one,” Father said, his slight smile only for her. “Don’t worry, pequeñita. I can fight another day.”

At overhearing the words, Esteban’s brow furrowed. “You must not say such things or when next we meet, one of us will have to kill the other. I do not want to be that man.”

Father turned, shielding her with his body from Esteban. “We must all choose our side. You have not told me anything I did not already know. Which makes me wonder again—why are you here?”

Esteban smoothed the feathered plume on his helmet as he considered his reply. With a glance in Victoria’s direction, he said, “Please, señor, I know your daughter will not have me as her husband.” He swallowed hard. “I must respect her decision in this, but still I do not wish to see her hurt. You cannot protect her. Not against so many. And once the officers see her…” The words trailed off, and he struggled with finishing his thoughts. “She is a rare beauty, Señor Torrez. I…I am afraid for her.”

The letter opener dropped from her hand unheeded and clattered to the floor as a new fear rose up inside her. The officers would not dare to touch her, would they? She was no camp follower. Her lineage could be traced back nine generations to the Acalde in Madrid, Spain.

“So your general makes war on women?” her father said.

“No. Of course not. But Victoria is beyond compare. And Santa Anna has…appetites. I…I am afraid for her,” he repeated awkwardly. A slight flush came to his cheeks.

“Then what do you propose?”

“To take her far from here—as far away from the fighting as possible.”

Victoria couldn’t believe he would separate her from her family. She needed to stay here and help. “That is impossible, Esteban!”

Father turned to her and studied her face, lifting the point of her chin with his fingers.

Shocked that he would consider Esteban’s words, she grasped his forearm. “No! I wish to stay with you. I am strong. I can fight.”

His gaze hardened. “In this, Victoria, you will do as I say.”

“Father,” she said once more, “do not send me away.”

Her father gave little indication that he heard her, instead he turned to Esteban. “Where would you go? Where does the army go next?”

Esteban looked affronted. “I cannot tell you that!”

“You’re an officer,” her father pressed. “Surely you know Santa Anna’s plans.”

“Even if I knew, I would not tell you. You would make a traitor of me when I am here to help you.”

A slight nod was the only indication her father understood the truth of Esteban’s words.

Esteban thought for a moment. “Where does she have family?”

“Monterrey.”

“Too far. I cannot leave my men for that long. Is there no one closer?”

Father looked at Mama and silent communication seemed to flow between them. “Your cousin, Gertrudis? Juan and his family?”

Mama nodded, but there were tears in her eyes. “Bejar. The Texians have control of the city now. Perhaps she will be safe at their hacienda until we can bring her back.”

It didn’t make any sense to Victoria. She moved closer to whisper in her father’s ear. “But, Papa. If the Texians are in control, surely that will be where Santa Anna goes next?”

Under the guise of a bracing hug, she felt his slight nod. “Go to Juan,” he said softly, urgently. “His family is well thought of in Bejar. He will be able to protect you.”

Papa let go and turned to Esteban. “You will escort her there? I have your word as a gentleman that you would guard her honor?”

With a formal bow and a click together of his boot heels, Esteban answered solemnly. “With my life.”

She barely heard his answer. The strange look between her parents, the things her mother said—what was it that they wanted of her? It dawned on her then. She must warn her cousin Juan that Santa Anna was near, so that the people of Bejar could prepare themselves. Excitement thrummed through her.

Didn’t Esteban understand? She tried to keep the urgency from showing on her face. Was he so intent on getting her to safety that he hadn’t evaluated the consequences? Or, more likely, did he suspect that she, being a woman, gave such things little thought?

“You must trust me, Victoria,” Esteban said, mistaking her hesitation for fear. He started to leave, but at the door he stopped. “Wear dark clothes. Pack only what you can carry on your horse and meet me in the stable in fifteen minutes.” He walked through the doorway.

She turned to her parents. “I will warn Juan. You can count on me, Papa.”

“The journey will not be easy,” he said, a worried look on his brow. He crossed to her writing desk and withdrew a sliver of paper, and then dashed off a quick note. Straightening, he blew on the indigo ink and then folded and handed it to Victoria. “This tells the approximate size of the army and the names of the generals here, but you must let Juan know there are two other armies to the south gaining ground. He must prepare immediately.”

She tucked the paper in her fist and glanced between her mother and father. “What will become of you?”

Father shook his head. “For now I’ll do as the soldiers ask. This General Romero appears to be a respectable man. I do not think we will come to harm.”

He folded her into a hug, and she drew in the scent that was his alone, mixed with the tobacco of his favorite cigar. “Get dressed now. There is little time.”

She turned to her mother. “Mama,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck and shoulders.

“Vaya con Dios,” her mother said, tears wetting her face. “Be strong.” With an extra squeeze, she let go and stepped away.

A lump formed in Victoria’s throat. Would she ever see her family again? She could not allow herself to believe otherwise. She clamped her teeth together, afraid her parents would see her trembling. She must be strong as her mother said—strong and resilient. Pulling herself up tall, her shoulders back, she memorized her parents’ proud faces. “A Torrez has safeguarded this land for generations. Now it is my turn and I am ready. I will make you proud.”

The first night of their journey north, when Victoria dismounted from her horse, her legs would not obey her. She crumpled to the ground, and only the mare’s intelligence, or perhaps its weariness, kept the beast from trampling her. As conditioned to riding as Victoria had been all her life, she still ached in places she did not know could hurt—her thighs, her knees, her hips. Esteban treated her with courtesy and care but dared not slow his pace to accommodate her. She wouldn’t have wanted it, anyway. She had to get to Juan to warn him. If only her body was as strong as her resolve.

Late into the night of the fifth day, they reached the town of San Antonio de Bejar. The moon cast the church tower and adobe houses in a pale-blue light, the sight surreal in her state of exhaustion. Her eyes kept drifting shut as she struggled to stay in her saddle. Sleeplessness and the aches and pains from the trail had taken their toll. She could barely keep Esteban in her vision. He sat taller in the saddle, alert for trouble as they entered the small town. He’d changed from his soldier uniform into a cotton shirt and canvas pants for the journey. The common peasant clothes along with a serape made it possible for him to ride all the way to her cousin’s door without being challenged. She glanced around, aware for the first time that no one had stopped them, no one had questioned them.

Guards should be posted. The soldiers had no idea that Santa Anna was so close—right on her heels. Things would change once she spoke with Juan. She was sure of it.

Her horse stumbled. She grabbed a hank of mane and adjusted herself in the saddle, as her eyes drifted closed again. The sound of subdued voices carried to her. Vaguely it registered that Esteban had dismounted and talked quietly to a couple in the doorway of an adobe house. They were dressed in their night clothes. She looked up at the starlit sky with the dipper constellation overhead so large and clear. How late was it? A chill went through her and she gathered her heavy cloak closer.

Esteban led her mare down the street and they stopped before another house. A man stepped through the large doorway—her cousin, Juan.

She hurried to dismount, feeling Juan’s firm hands helping her at the last. She turned to face him. Drawn and worried, his face appeared older by more than the passage of two years since she’d last seen him. “The soldiers…you must warn them…” Her tongue, thick and dry, did not want to work.

“You are a long way from home, prima. Come inside and tell me what has happened.”

“Esteban…” She remembered her manners.

Juan’s lips pressed to together. “He is already getting some food from my cook and then will be on his way.”

“You will let him go? He will not come to harm?”

Juan nodded. “Yes. Although I am afraid he has seen how unprepared we are here and will take that information with him for his own use and that of the Santanistas.”

“We will prepare. We will tell the soldiers at the fort.”

Her cousin opened his mouth to say more, but then clamped it shut, his jaw tightening.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You will learn soon enough. Come inside for now.”

Chapter Two

Jake Dumont paced the length of the small room, trying to rein in his temper. Exhausted after traveling over half the country, he didn’t need the setback Lieutenant Colonel Travis had just thrown in his path.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Jake demanded. “Brandon came here to fight. He wouldn’t turn tail.”

“I’m not suggesting he has,” the colonel said from his seat behind the small wooden desk. “Bowie sent him and another soldier to San Patricio five days ago.”

“I was told you were in charge.”

“I am—of the regular recruits. Jim Bowie heads the volunteers.”

It was frustrating enough falling farther behind his brother due to the winter storm that blew through the Arkansas Territory with a vengeance, but then a day out of Béxar his horse had been startled by a cougar looking for an easy meal and had suffered an ugly clawing on his flank. To arrive and find he’d missed Brandon by less than a week had him ready to hit somebody.

He studied the map on Travis’s desk, committing to memory the lay of the land and nearby towns. San Patricio was a far piece to the south.

“What is Brandon’s assignment there?”

“To learn what he can of Santa Anna’s whereabouts and gather more troops.” Travis met his eyes over the hand-drawn map. “He failed to mention that he is a doctor. Didn’t even ask about the hospital here.”

“I don’t think he has healing on his mind right now.”

“No.” Travis’s stare was measuring. “I’d have to agree with you. Rather curious considering his chosen occupation. He was anxious to see some action. Perhaps I provided it for him.”

Jake winced at the arrogant sound of that. Brandon didn’t have any idea what he’d gotten himself into, but Jake did. And it wasn’t all male camaraderie and whiskey. War changed a man, usually for the worse. Especially someone as idealistic as his brother. If Brandon couldn’t see through the designs of one industrious female—the provocation for this foolhardy journey—he certainly wouldn’t be able to comprehend the strategies of warfare and the manipulation of soldiers.

Noting Travis’s perfectly fitted waistcoat and tailored white shirt, Jake wondered if someone so young and full of himself could actually hold the common soldier as important and necessary, or would he see him only as an expendable risk in one officer’s rise up the ranks.

“What is the terrain like to San Patricio?” Jake asked, growing more concerned by the moment.

“Passable—if you follow the river rather than going straight overland. That will take extra time though. A good six days. And I don’t have anyone extra to send with you.”

Jake grunted. “Believe me, if I can find my way here from the Carolinas, I can get there without someone holding my hand.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered his options. Fury needed to rest up if that gash was to heal. The horse would obey whatever Jake asked, but that didn’t mean Jake would ride the beast into the ground. Maybe he could leave in a few days and still catch up to Brandon.

A knock at the door sounded and two Tejanos entered the room. One appeared close to Jake’s age of twenty-eight and had the bearing of an officer, although he wore no uniform. Instead, with the split-legged trousers and striped poncho, Jake pegged him as a land owner of some merit. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and held it before him, waiting for permission to speak.

The other looked younger—not quite a man yet, but nearly there judging by the fuzz on his upper lip. His build was slender and bony at the hands and shoulders. He swiped off his hat, stained with grime and sweat, as he stepped up to the desk.

Travis rose from his seat. “Captain Seguín. Diego. Good. You’re back.” He turned to Jake, a new urgency in his voice. “Look—your brother will be back by the end of next week. Why don’t you relax. Rest up a bit. We’re having a party at the cantina tomorrow night celebrating Washington’s birthday.”

Jake raised his brows. “This isn’t the United States.”

“But there are plenty of men from the States here itching for something to combat the boredom. A party should do it. Come have a drink with us.”

It was tempting, Jake thought as he rubbed his scruffy neck again. A shave. A bath. Besides, that mean-looking gash on Fury’s flank had started to fester. He’d stitched it up as best he could, but it was oozing a nasty-smelling discharge. He needed to take care of it. “I might still be here. Where can I find the apothecary?”

“Hospital is up at the fort. Talk to Dr. Pollard. You’ll find lodging there, too—for you and your horse.”

Victoria walked down the street carrying a kettle of chicken soup and grumbling to herself. She had been to the edge of town that morning and still there were no soldiers posted as lookouts. Didn’t the officers understand how close Santa Anna’s army was? Why did they not prepare? It had been four days since she’d arrived in town. She’d expected to help Juan secure his house here and move into the fort—and perhaps prepare the women. No one took her warnings seriously except Juan.

She glanced down at the heavy iron pot she held. All she’d done so far was take food to the hospital in Maria’s stead—not nearly the action she’d desired. Juan had dismissed his cook after hearing the news Victoria brought, and smartly the woman had packed her things and headed back to her home west of town to warn her husband. The soldiers might enjoy this soup after the rations of corn tortillas they’d endured, but what would happen to the injured and ailing men once Santa Anna invaded the streets?

Again she worried about the lack of readiness. Shouldn’t people be doing something? Preparing? It seemed a few Tejanos were, but not the stubborn and blind Americanos.

She strode past the barracks, making a beeline for the stairs to the hospital floor. Just as she mounted the first step, a dark blur of motion dashed out from under the stairway. The large mud-colored mongrel bounded toward her with its teeth bared, a rumbling growl in its throat.

“No!” she cried out, teetering on the brink of losing her balance as the dog dove into her skirt and between her legs. “No! Eyiee!” Hot soup sloshed out from under the kettle’s lid and over the edge to burn her fingers. She would lose it all if she dropped it!

Suddenly a strong hand gripped the kettle and then grasped her elbow, steadying her. She looked up into a face that hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a razor in weeks. His beard was the color of rich coffee but it couldn’t hide the handsome contours beneath. Anglo, she reasoned. Easy to spot with the dark hair, streaked blond by the sun, and cobalt-blue eyes. His body tensed as he held tight to a ruff of fur at the dog’s neck and pulled it away from her skirt. “Guess the smell of that soup was more than the poor mutt could take. You got that now?”

“Gracias,” she said, gripping the kettle to her like a shield. Juan had warned her against being too familiar with the soldiers, saying they saw few women and were as uncouth a lot as he’d ever known. She sniffed. This man reeked of horse and sweat and days on the trail—not exactly a heady combination.

He tipped his hat. “Name’s Jake. Jake Dumont.”

“Gracias,” she said again.

He was blocking her path. She started to sidestep to go around him but then he sidestepped and was in front of her again.

His eyes narrowed under his dark brows. “You don’t speak English? A shame.” His gaze slid over her, moving from the heavy blue cloak that covered her head all the way down to the base of her gray skirt where the tips of her boots peeked out. Angry heat flushed through her. He had nerve, this Anglo!

She raised her chin and gave him the haughtiest look she could muster under the circumstances. Repositioning her grip on the kettle, she started up the stairs, surprised when the man shoved the dog purposely to the side and followed her. She stopped and turned, putting the hot soup between them. If he thought to annoy her, she had plenty of protection.

He glanced at the soup and then back up at her. A devilish look came into his eyes. “You think that would stop me?”

She tipped the kettle in warning. A drop of hot liquid splashed onto his pants.

Faster than lightning, he grasped her wrist. “Careful woman. There may come a day you won’t want that part of me scalded.”

Oh! He was a wicked man!

“Look. Let’s not start a battle where there doesn’t need to be one. I’m just going in the same direction as you—to see the doctor.”

“You are sick?” He seemed like the last man on earth who’d be ill. His firm grip revealed only quick reflexes and crushing strength. Too late she realized her ruse was up. She’d spoken her thoughts out loud—in English.

He smiled slowly, his gaze knowing. “No. But my horse is.”

Captured momentarily by the deep blue of his eyes, her heart thudded in her chest. He was different from anyone she’d known before and so sure of himself. Was this an American trait? She wasn’t sure she liked it. It bordered on rudeness. They had not been properly introduced and here he was still touching her wrist.

As if he read her thoughts, he released her arm and took the kettle from her hands. “Relax, miss. Although you are the prettiest señorita I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.” Then he passed by and continued up the stairs giving her a disconcerting view of his worn buckskin backside.

She frowned. She hadn’t expected him to suddenly turn charming. Drawing up the hem of her skirt, she followed.

He crossed the room in half the number of strides it took her and set the kettle on a nearby table. Sick and injured men on pallets lined the interior walls. As she approached, the doctor looked up from his desk.

“Señorita Torrez. Thank you for thinking of my men again.”

“They may all eat?” she asked. At his nod, she added, “There is plenty for you, too.” By her count, the two open rooms that served as the hospital held nineteen patients. The aroma of onions and chicken filled the room as she ladled the soup into small bowls on the counter.

She felt the bearded man watching her. All these Anglos had such scruffy beards. They reminded her more of beasts or bears than men. The ones who were sick, she could understand, but the Mexicans she knew in Laredo kept theirs neatly trimmed or did not wear facial hair at all.

She sat down near the soldier on the end pallet and started spooning the food into his mouth, relieved to note the blue-eyed man turned away and started up a conversation with the doctor.

She didn’t mean to listen, but couldn’t help noticing the rich timbre of his voice. So pleasant and soothing. It called to her—resonating deep inside her. He had a slow and easy accent unfamiliar to her, and different from the other Anglos who lived here. But he was too cocky for his own good. He wasn’t to be trusted. A man like that usually took what he wanted and didn’t worry about anyone else’s feelings.

Still, she caught bits and pieces of their talk. He needed something for his horse. Something was infected. Well, at least he’d been telling her the truth about that.

She moved to the next patient, a man with his hands bandaged.

“Pssst!”

Startled, Victoria dribbled hot soup over the man’s chest. “Oh! Pardon me!” She dabbed at the liquid with her apron before looking up from her work to find a woman motioning to her from the doorway of the room. “Sí?”

The woman glanced at the line of bedridden soldiers and at the doctor. She shook her head and made the sign of the cross over her breast.

“Excuse me,” Victoria said to the man she’d been helping, and walked over to the door.

“Señorita,” the woman said in Spanish. “Capitán Seguín is asking for you at the house.”

“Did Diego return?”

“Si.”

Victoria’s stomach clenched. This couldn’t be good. She nodded to the woman. “Gracias. I will come immediately.”

The woman left quickly, and Victoria turned back to the soldier on the pallet. She would not be able to finish helping him. The large Anglo had stopped talking to the doctor and watched her. Suspicion clouded his eyes. Just how much Spanish did he know? Had he understood the woman’s words?

“Doctor Pollard? I am sorry to have to excuse myself. I have been called back to the house. I will come for the kettle later.”

The doctor nodded to her and she turned and headed down the stairs, all the while feeling the other man’s gaze on her. He filled the room with his rough presence and made her feel as though jumping beans were bouncing in her stomach. Not at all a pleasant sensation.

She crossed the small footbridge over the San Antonio River on her way back into town, drawing her cloak close about her shoulders. Loud voices came from inside the small general store as the door opened and a man stumbled out, his arms around a full sack of flour. He dropped it into a wagon loaded high with bedding and pans and tools. A woman held the bridle of the burro hitched to the cart and frequently scanned the street urging her husband to hurry.

Entering Juan’s house, Victoria heard voices in the study. She stopped at the open door.

“Come. Victoria. You should hear this.” Juan motioned for her to enter. He removed his hat and poncho and tossed them on a nearby chair. Apparently he had just arrived at the house himself.

She turned to Diego. He’d grown since she’d seen him last. Now, at eighteen, he stood taller than she and had become wiry. He wore an old leather hunting shirt, most likely from his father. “Welcome, Diego. I’m glad to see you here. What news do you bring?”

He nodded, his face serious. “Santa Anna’s army is halfway between the Rio Grande and here. They’re moving this way.”

“How can that be when I left them at my father’s hacienda just nine days ago? The soldiers are on foot, not riding as I did. They could not travel so fast.”

“It is another section of the army, just as your father warned in his letter,” Juan said. “I’ve told Travis.”

“What is he going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He questions whether to believe me—a Tejano. I can see it in his eyes. He has not been in command long enough to understand how things are here. And he and Bowie don’t agree on much.” Juan pressed his lips together as he took Victoria’s hands in his. “You came here for safety. I’m sorry.”

“No, Juan. I came to warn you. To give you time to protect Gertrudis and your children. To help you prepare.” Frustrated tears came to her eyes and she clenched her fist. “And now the soldiers linger and talk of parties instead of readying themselves.”

Juan would not meet her eyes. “Perhaps I should help you leave town. I can’t take you to my family as I wish to. They are already safely away. Perhaps the town of Mina…”

Trembling took hold of Victoria. She would not keep running. She had as much right to stay as they did. “I do not think there is a safe place left in Tejas. I will not go.”

Juan’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “No?”

“No. If you make me leave, I will slip away at the first chance and come back here. This is my fight, too.”

“Victoria.” He was frowning now. “I want to see you safe. Just as your father wanted. He gave you into my care. I do not take his wishes lightly.”

She pulled herself to her full height. “I understand that, but this is my land, too—as much as it is my father’s and mother’s and yours. It is mine. Our people have given their blood and sweat to this land. Can I do less? My family is here. My place is here.”

His gaze, although still worried for her, also held a measure of pride. He released her hands and nodded his agreement to let her stay. “So be it.”

Turning to Diego, he continued. “I will talk to Travis. Perhaps he will grant leave to the men who have families and farms in Santa Anna’s path.”

“But, Juan,” Diego said. “Your land is there, too. Will you go also?”

“No. I agree with our cousin. My place is here. I am captain. I must set an example.”

Impulsively Victoria threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Then she drew in Diego, too. “This will be where we stand.”

Chapter Three

Jake heard the music coming from inside the cantina fifty paces from its doors. Someone played a violin and another a bass fiddle. Light from the candelabras inside spilled out in rectangular slashes onto the dirt street. When he opened the doors, the strong odors of smoke and beer assailed him. He glanced about the room, half hoping that he’d see the woman from the hospital. A pipe dream. Why would a beautiful señorita come to an American holiday celebration like Washington’s Birthday?

He was no stranger to women from Mexico with their thick dark hair and their chocolate eyes, but he’d been flummoxed with her. When he had glanced from the dog up into her face, he’d actually been tongue-tied like a dull-witted greenhorn. She was that entrancing, with her dark eyes widened in surprise and that slightly shocked look on her face because he had dared to touch her, even though it was obvious he was trying to help. He’d thought at first her hair was black, slicked back as it was into a fancy coil at her neck. Then as the dog had her moving this way and that he saw that no, it was the darkest, richest shade of brown he’d ever seen.

And then he’d gone and goaded her. Unfortunately, he understood why. Guess he was just foolish enough to want to make an impression on her—even a poor one, if that’s what it would take to get noticed. But damned if she hadn’t come right back tilting that soup on him. He grinned just thinking about it—had caught himself stifling that grin half the day whenever the memory popped into his head. As proper as she appeared on the surface, underneath she was a handful—a challenge he couldn’t ignore in spite of the fact he was only here one more day. She was an enticing splash of color in an otherwise drab and dusty town, and he wanted to see her again. He’d dressed as though she might show up, which meant he’d taken a bath, cut his hair and shaved. If she did appear, she probably wouldn’t recognize him anyway.

Jake walked to the bar and watched a group of volunteers raise their mugs as one, guzzle down their beer and then slam their mugs on the table.

“Have fun tonight because we’ll be out there again at daybreak if Bowie orders it,” one man said.

“I’m too tired to heft my fork,” complained another.

“That’s not because you’re tired, Ward. You’re jest drunk.”

“Maybe we should have thrown in with Travis instead.” Ward continued to complain. “Digging a well isn’t my idea of soldiering. Besides, there’s no way we can defend this place.”

Suddenly, a tall commanding figure in buckskin loomed over them. He slammed his fist on the table making the mugs jump an inch high off the table. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that the cockroaches in Mexico have ears?”

“This is Texas, Davey, uh, I mean Mr. Crockett.” A young soldier reddened instantly.

“Not yet it ain’t, but it will be.” Crockett grinned at him, and then spoke in a quieter voice. “North side first. The rest of the walls will hold. And,” he continued, his eyes narrowing on Ward, “Bowie might be ailing, but he ain’t stupid. He’s got his reasons for his orders.” He straightened and headed for a table closer to the music—a table where Travis now sat.

Travis caught Jake’s gaze and motioned for him to join them also.

Jake bought a shot of whiskey and then sat down with the lieutenant colonel.

“Glad you made it, Dumont. May I introduce David Crockett?”

Jake nodded to the man. He’d heard of him. “Enjoy your stint in congress?”

“Not enough to go back.” Crockett took a swig from his mug of beer. “Lot of talk that didn’t amount to anything.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as everyone else. Looking for a piece of heaven to stake a claim. Somewhere with good hunting and with bluebonnets that have an ear for good fiddlin’,” he added with a wide grin. “And you?”

“Just passing through,” Jake said noncommittally, glad when Crockett let the subject drop. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He was among his own element here and appreciated it. His recent visit home, if he had such a place anymore, had opened his eyes. Ten years was a long time to be gone from Charleston. He no longer fit in there—but then he never really had.

A boy stood on a nearby table and finished lighting the last of the candelabras overhead when a gust of cold air had the newly lit candles flickering wildly. Jake looked up to see what had caused the breeze. The view was like a gut punch. His señorita.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she slipped the heavy blue cloak off her head and let it settle on her shoulders. A high silver comb held in place a black lace scarf over her hair knot, and small silver earrings shimmered daintily from each lobe. She wore a maroon silk dress trimmed with black bows that offered enough of a view of creamy skin at her throat to be enticing but not risqué. The material rustled in a very feminine way as she followed the man she came with, maneuvering gracefully between the tables and chairs. Another Tejano protected her from the back. Jake recognized the two as those he’d seen in Travis’s office yesterday.

“Well, would you feast on that,” Crockett said, letting a low whistle slip through his teeth.

“I am.” Amusement laced Travis’ voice. “And it looks like every other young buck in this cantina is, too. Even Dumont here.”

Crockett met Jake’s gaze. “I didn’t think Seguín would bring that cousin of his in here.”

Jake’s ears caught on the word cousin with a mixture of relief. Not her husband, then, or fiancé. “Why not?” he asked.

“You might use your eyes, Mr. Dumont,” Travis said. “Look at her. Fine bones. She’s not a mixture at all, she’s a lady. Spanish aristocrat. Seguín’s lineage goes way back. Someone like that usually is kept away from the commoners.” He leaned forward as if to tell a great secret. “That would be us. This old cantina could get a bit rowdy for her.”

“I get the feeling she can take care of herself,” Jake said, thinking of his earlier encounter with her. At least she didn’t have hot soup with her now.

Spying them, Juan made his way first to Travis’s table and removed his hat. He was dressed well for such a dusty spot on the map, Jake thought as he glanced over the silver buttons on his shirt collar and the wide satin sash around his waist that matched the señorita’s dress.

“Any more news?” Juan asked in a low voice.

Travis shook his head.

Jake kept his gaze trained on the woman, wondering if she recognized him. If she did, she didn’t acknowledge it.

Juan murmured something in Spanish to the young man with him and they headed to a table across the room.

As the others talked, Jake settled back in his chair and watched the woman. She radiated confidence and something else that tugged at him. The two men who sat with her laughed at something she said and he felt a stab of envy that they enjoyed her wit when he couldn’t. She had charmed them to the point of being lapdogs—something he’d never let a woman do to him. He’d learned his lesson well. He raised his glass to an unseen past and caught the flash of her eyes as they met his. Quickly she looked away, raising her fan to her cover her face.

Crockett let out a laugh and slammed down his beer mug, spraying the table. “Dumont, you’ve got more guts than I took you for. She’s way out of your league. She’ll cut you down to size with that sharp hair comb of hers.”

Jake motioned to a woman serving drinks at the next table.

“You’re out of your mind, Dumont,” Travis said. “Juan will never let you near her.”

“All the better,” he mumbled, wondering what the hell he was doing. “I’m up for a dare. Besides, I don’t know that he’ll have the final say.”

“You’re a cocky son of a gun,” Crockett said. “It’ll be entertaining to watch you get your balls mashed.”

“Thanks for your overwhelming support.”

The serving woman placed a glass of red wine in front of Señorita Torrez. She raised it to Juan, ready to thank him, only to see him scowl and shake his head. Searching the candlelit room, her gaze finally collided with Jake’s and held. She recognized him all right. Awareness pulsed between them. He gave her his best lady-killer smile and rose from his seat, ready to join her. “Gentlemen?” he said by way of goodbye to his table partners. “It’s been an education…”

She frowned and put the glass down. Then she pushed it to the farthest corner of the table.

Jake sat back down with a thump.

“You gonna let that stop you?” Crockett said, barely keeping the smirk from his face.

“Just a setback. She’s playing hard to get.”

Travis leaned forward. “What you don’t seem to get, is that she’s way out of your class.”

“Nothing with skirts is out of my class. But I am choosy.” He’d give her a few minutes, lull her back into thinking she’d get her way and that he’d given up.

“Thought you were heading out in the morning. Why are you interested in dallying with that filly when you’re leaving for San Patricio?” Crockett asked.

Damned if he knew. Just something about her he couldn’t let go. She lowered her fan slightly and he noticed a flush to her cheeks as another glance darted in his direction. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to him as he’d thought. “My horse could use one more day to rest.”

“You try the turpentine like Doc Pollard said?”

He nodded, turning his attention back to Travis. “Too early to tell if it’s helping. Well, gentlemen, I’d like to stay and discuss things, but a challenge waits.”

He raised his glass of whiskey. “To Washington—his great deeds, those remembered and those that aren’t.” He tossed the drink to the back of his throat, his courage bolstered by the liquid fire.

Half the room must have heard him. They all joined in with a hail of some kind. Then another man called out, “To freedom for Texas!” Tejanos and Texians alike raised their mugs. The band began a lively tune in the middle of the ruckus.

“Now you’ve started it,” Crockett said with a grin.

The sound was deafening. Jake rose, dropped a couple coins on the table to pay for his drinks and headed over to the señorita’s table.

As he approached, annoyance flitted across her face, quickly covered by a polite facade. Most women welcomed his interruption. This was a new experience—a diverting one, if nothing should come of it. When he stopped in front of her, she seemed reluctant to make the introductions to her cousin and the other man, Diego. However, they both stood and shook hands with him, remembering him from Travis’s office.

“You know my cousin, Señor Dumont?” Juan asked.

“We met yesterday. I spoke with her outside the hospital.”

Juan turned to the woman for an explanation. “You did not mention this.”

“There was no need. It was nothing.”

Jake raised his brows. “Nothing isn’t exactly how I’d put it, Señorita Torrez. You nearly scalded me!” He caught Juan’s eye. “And I won’t be explaining where!”

Juan frowned and turned to her. “Victoria? Explain yourself.”

Jake hid a quick smile. At least he’d learned her first name now, even though it had earned him a killer glare.

“Señor Dumont was kind enough to help shoo away a mongrel intent on the soup I carried to the hospital. I thanked him at the time. I did not expect to see him again.”

“Soup?”

“For the injured men. Your cook asked me to take it. She could then get an earlier start to her home.”

“It seems I owe you thanks,” Juan said with all the finesse of a gentleman.

He did not invite Jake sit down with them. That being the situation, Jake charged ahead. “Instead of your gratitude, I’d rather have your permission to dance with the lady.”

Juan raised his brows, and Jake could see him preparing a refusal.

“You don’t need to worry about my intentions, Captain Seguín. I have none. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow as soon as my horse heals up. Just one dance—in honor of the occasion.”

Her lips twitched at his last comment.

Encouraged by the reaction, he said again, “One dance. After all, it is a party.”

“I am not swayed by this Washington celebration,” she said. “I think you Anglos use it as an excuse to drink. However, if my cousin will allow it, I will consent to one dance.”

More surprised by her acquiescence than he’d admit, Jake waited for Seguín’s response. Finally the man nodded.

Diego frowned, rising to his feet. “You do not need to do this, Victoria.”

“It is only one dance,” she said as she stood. “And he was kind to help me yesterday. I probably would have dropped the soup and burnt myself if not for his quick action.”

Jake shot a triumphant smile at her two body-guards and then followed her to the small open area used for dancing, his gaze on the seductive swaying of her gown. When she turned to face him, he looked into eyes the color of dark mahogany, fringed with long coal-black lashes and wondered at his good fortune—or perhaps her lack thereof. He raised his hand for her to take. “Bad pennies or pezos in this case.”

With an elegant movement, she drew up the side of her skirt and then slowly placed her other hand in his. “No entiendo. I do not understand.”

Despite her cool, smooth touch, he felt warmth rush up his arm. “They do turn up.”

At his words, Victoria pressed her lips together. No matter her grimace, Jake found her tantalizing. At her best, she must be about five foot two, he figured. The top of her head reached his shoulder. She held herself in rigid control as she followed his lead, and still she was the most graceful thing on the dance floor.

“Relax, Victoria. Unlike the dog earlier today, I won’t bite.”

She scowled. “You use my given name freely.”

“It’s a beautiful name—like you.”

That earned him another frown. Was she really so used to men who took a year to say hello? Well, he wouldn’t change to suit her. He didn’t have the inclination or the time. “I take it the dog hasn’t bothered you again?”

“No, señor. After you handled the situation, it gave up completely.”

He smiled. “I have that influence at times.”

She caught the innuendo and gave him a slow, assessing look. “You are a very confident man.”

“Persistent, too. I don’t take no for an answer, but a challenge.” He swirled her around the small floor, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. She followed his lead effortlessly, her eyes taking on a shine. She was enjoying this, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“An answer to what question?”

He stared at her full lips. “Why, what every man here is wondering as they watch us dance.”

She raised a dainty, perfectly arched brow.

“Will the lady allow him a kiss?”

Her lips pressed together again, this time stifling a smile that threatened.

He knew he was being forward—cavalier by any woman’s definition, but his mood had lifted considerably when she’d consented to the waltz. After all, it was all about the chase, and she seemed to be enjoying it. With effort he dragged his gaze away from her lips and focused on her eyes.

“With you, I think the answer I seek—” he leaned close, close enough to be tickled by a few wisps of her hair, and whispered into her ear “—is a yes.”

She stiffened slightly within his arms.

“I’ll take care of that later, darlin’.”

“You are too bold, señor. Perhaps I would consider a kiss if you could ask for it in my language. Until then, my answer is no.”

He grunted.

A smug smile lifted her lips.

Oh, she was tempting, definitely tempting enough to learn a few phrases. “How many kisses? Surely a phrase is worth more than one kiss?”

“For now, let’s just enjoy the dance.”

Her breath came in shorter gasps as he twirled her around, making sure to keep her just this side of dizzy. She relaxed the rigid hold she had on her body, her cheeks flushing with color, as she let herself enjoy the music.

“That’s better,” he said, drawing her close again and breathing in the perfumed soap she’d used earlier in the day. “Now, tell me what brings you here to this cow town in the middle of winter.”

She gave him a sweet, evasive smile. “A visit with my cousin, of course.”

“You expect me to believe that?” He paused, studying her face—the straight classic nose, the large smoky eyes. That she couldn’t meet his gaze gave him his answer, but she sure was striking when she was telling a tale.

“Of course I do.”

“What if I said I thought you were lying?”

She faltered in her steps. “You do not know me well enough to say whether I am or not.”

“True—and I’d never argue with such a beautiful señorita, but still you haven’t given me the entire truth.”

The mysterious half smile she bestowed upon him made him catch his breath. “And why should I pour out my heart to you when you will be gone once your horse has healed?”

The candlelight reflected on the soft contours of her face as he drew her closer. “I can only think of one reason.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Damned if she wasn’t curious! Tempted even. Anticipation had him pulling her nearer. Maybe she’d consider dropping the Spanish lesson after all.

“The music has stopped, Señor Dumont.”

Her words were like the shake of a rattler’s tail—stopping him cold. He looked up to find the men in the band heatedly discussing their next song. He swallowed hard. “So it has,” he said, surprised at what he’d been about to do. It wasn’t like him to lose track of his surroundings. He’d been ready to kiss her right there on the dance floor in front of everyone. A foolhardy thing to do considering her status. The men with her would probably demand a duel or, God forbid, marriage at such an overture.

“If I had let you kiss me, I would have had to slap you, to keep my honor.”

“It would have been worth it.”

Her dark eyes sparkled.

Confidence surged through him. He was enjoying this. For the first time in a long while he was with a woman he could respect and appreciate. Better to keep her off balance with a little cockiness than to let her think he was serious. He was the last person she should get serious about. “One more turn about the floor?”

“Victoria?” Juan said from behind him, his voice stern. “Come back to the table now.”

She looked at her cousin, then back to him, and stepped from his arms. “Sí. Thank you for the dance, Señor Dumont.” Her head high, she placed her hand on Juan’s arm. “Would you care to join us?”

Surprised, his gaze shifted to Juan. The man was not pleased with her request but was too polite to argue.

“You may tell us about your poor horse,” she continued, and with a beguiling smile in his direction, she headed back to the table where Diego waited.

His horse was the last thing on Jake’s mind at the moment. He watched as Victoria disappeared in the midst of the other dancers on her way across the room. Here was a challenge he couldn’t refuse even though it led nowhere. She fascinated him, and apparently she wasn’t completely immune to him, either. He followed her back to the table and settled into the chair across from her.

Captain Seguín motioned for a round of drinks. He waited until the waitress had deposited the mugs of ale and for Victoria, wine. “What is this about your horse?”

The man was just being polite, feigning interest, but Jake appreciated that it was for Victoria’s sake. “I was a day out of town when a cougar startled me and attacked my horse. It clawed his flank. I fired a shot to scare it off.”

“You are lucky it did not hurt you, as well.”

Jake agreed, nodding. “I stitched up the gash as best I could, but it looks to be infected now.”

“What have you used on it?” Victoria asked.

“The doc said to try turpentine.”

She wrinkled her nose and he heard the word barbaric from Diego.

Juan watched him, his gaze steady.

“Doc Pollard said there’s no more medicine for the men, let alone animals. And turpentine was the only thing he could think of that might work, other than warm compresses and prayer.”

“He ran out of any strong medicine over two months ago,” Diego said, leaning his chair back on two legs. “We’re going to need it, too.” The party-like atmosphere evaporated around the table.

“Why are we even here, Juan?” Victoria asked, setting down her glass. “With Santa Anna so close, why are we sitting in a cantina with all these Anglos and celebrating an American named Washington? It makes no sense to me. Why aren’t the soldiers preparing for battle?”

With a glance at Jake, her cousin shook his head at Victoria.

He’s afraid to say anything with me at the table, Jake realized. “I’d be interested in the answer to that, too,” he said. “My brother came here to join the rebels.”

Seguín studied him a moment, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “When Diego returned from scouting south of here, he told Travis how close the Mexican army was but the man has turned a deaf ear. I think he is unable to take the word of a Tejano, even one who will fight at his side.”

The news worried Jake. Wasn’t San Patricio to the south? He tried to remember the map in Travis’s office. “Why are you staying, then? Half the town looks deserted. What makes you stay?”

“My home is here,” Juan said. “It has belonged to my family for generations. The Mexican government does nothing to protect it from the Commancheros. Santa Anna takes our money in taxes but he does not care for the land or its people. I stay because I will fight for an independent Tejas.”

A proud light stole into Victoria’s eyes. “Juan has raised his own force and has his commission from Commander in Chief Austin. He and Diego will not back away from this and neither will I.”

Jake fingered the handle on his mug and tried to imagine caring about his home the way these two seemed to. “And this land of Juan’s…is it yours, too?”

“No.” She hesitated, but then continued. “My family’s land lies farther south, near the Rio Grande.”

She is beautiful, Jake realized, even more so with the zeal of misguided loyalty shining in her eyes. This cause would only bring her despair. He wanted to shake some sense into her. Land wasn’t worth dying for. He’d said as much to his brother when Brandon had brought up the subject.

Diego tipped his beer toward Jake. “Yesterday, in his office, Travis said you were good with a gun. What do you carry?”

“A.40 caliber flintlock—a Dickert.”

Diego gaze shifted to Juan, apparently impressed with the rifle.

“It’s a good shot… 270-300-yard accuracy.”

Diego snorted. “A rifle is only as true as the man who aims it. Where did you learn to shoot?”

“I’ve done a bit of hunting in my time, and scouting. My accuracy is what kept me alive.” He looked from Juan to Victoria, not liking the speculation in their eyes. He didn’t like to let loose about himself. “This some kind of test?”

“Of course not,” Juan said smoothly.

Diego’s innocent enthusiasm belied Juan’s words. “Are you joining with us also?”

Jake wondered who that “us” was. Did Diego include Anglos and Mexicans together? He hadn’t gotten that impression when talking to Travis. It seemed that the American immigrants wouldn’t turn away help, but they were in it for themselves either to protect the land they’d homesteaded over the years or to section off a parcel for themselves. He couldn’t blame them for that but it didn’t matter to him. He wasn’t fighting anyone. “I’ll shoot if I have to, to stay alive, but I’m not joining up.”

“Then why have you come here?” Victoria asked.

“To get my brother.”

“And he is here?” Victoria asked, looking around the room.

“He was. Bowie sent him to San Patricio a week ago. He’s supposed to be back soon but I think I’ll head that way and catch up to him. He’s just young enough and green enough to want to talk with this Santa Anna and strike a bargain.”

Juan raised a brow. “Negotiate? It has been tried before. Santa Anna will throw him in jail before he finishes his first sentence in Spanish. He does not negotiate with Anglos. Look what happened to Austin.”

“Exactly,” Jake said. “Brandon doesn’t stand a chance against such a man.”

“What will you do when you find him?” Victoria asked.

“Drag his bony butt back home to South Carolina. He has a fiancée waiting there for him. I promised her I’d bring him home.” In his opinion she wasn’t worth the paper Brandon had written his goodbye note on, but that was another matter he’d have to discuss with his brother. He looked up to find Victoria studying him.

“Why don’t you both stay? Stay and help us,” she urged.

“Victoria,” Juan said, a note of warning creeping into his voice. “Señor Dumont must do what he thinks right.”

Her eyes sparked. “But if he’s good with a rifle we could use him!”

“This is our fight, not his,” Juan said. “We need people who believe in what they’re fighting for.”

Irritation colored her face. “What do you believe in, then, Mr. Dumont? Or are you just as you seem—a shiftless drifter?”

He didn’t care for her appraisal of him but he did appreciate her passion. With her face flushed and her eyes flashing midnight fire, he appreciated it a whole lot. But the subject was getting more serious than he cared for, reminding him he had a mission to accomplish. Beautiful señorita or not, he couldn’t forget that.

“I resent being called a drifter on such short acquaintance,” he said. “You know nothing about my plans.”

“Plans?” She shrugged. “I too have those. But what is it you believe in?”

Jake stood, and moved his gaze to Juan, Diego and then back to rest on hers. “Señorita? I believe in staying alive. Other than that? Not a damn thing.”

She rose to her feet, her eyes shooting daggers. “Then you have no soul, Señor Dumont.”

His brother had said as much the day he took off. Jake met her angry gaze with a sardonic smile. “I know.”

Chapter Four

The next morning Victoria headed to the hospital, determined to put Jake Dumont out of her mind—not an easy task. Whenever she thought of him, she remembered the way her heart had raced while dancing and how safe she had felt in his strong arms. Never had she met a man so sure of himself, so sure of his ability to get what he wanted. And for a moment last night, it seemed he wanted her.

With a quick sign of the cross over her breast she thanked God she had found out his true character—selfish and arrogant. That she had even contemplated what his kiss would be like upset her now. She’d looked at his lips and heat raced up her cheeks. And he had known what she was thinking. That irked her all the more.

Today it was good there were more important needs to occupy her thoughts.

When she entered the hospital, Dr. Pollard was engrossed in a conversation with another man. He noticed her entrance and introduced her.

“This is Doctor Southerland, Miss Torrez. John, Miss Torrez is new in town. Her cousin, Juan, is in charge of the Tejano regiment.”

She murmured a greeting. “I am here to collect the soup kettle.”

“Of course. It’s there on the table. Thank you.” He turned back to his conversation as she walked across the room. “I’d like you to look at Bowie, John. I’m not sure if it’s pneumonia or maybe something else.”

“Be happy to. Where is he?”

“He has moved into the fort. I’ll take you to him.”

Victoria picked up the empty kettle and followed them down the stairs. Jim Bowie was sick? Too sick to lead? She wondered if Juan knew.

Once outside, she watched the doctors stride to the long row of barracks used by the men. The day was overcast, the cloud cover offering a scant measure of warmth as she started once more across the yard. Men were digging a well in the open plaza. Others worked on the north wall, adding materials to reinforce it. She was glad to see some preparation finally taking place.

She paused for a moment to watch, noting the few men who stood around the workers, offering their advice but not helping with the manual labor. How could they be so lazy when Santa Anna was on his way?

Not at all like the broad-shouldered man in the midst of them who worked twice as hard as the others. He had removed his shirt, and the sweat gleamed across his back despite the chill in the air. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged as he raised a heavy log and positioned it, holding it while others lashed it together with the other beams for support. He called orders to the men, coordinating the entire process until he could step away from the log.

Realizing suddenly that she stared, she gripped the kettle and prepared to leave. With one more glance, she saw the man lean over, hands on his knees, and drag in several deep breaths. Straightening, he swiped the dark lock of hair from his eyes and she recognized Jake Dumont.

At that exact moment he noticed her. Slowly, without taking his gaze from her, he reached for a shovel that leaned against a mound of dirt. His face—so closely shaved the night before, now had the dark stubble of a new beard on his square jaw. She took a deep, rather unsteady breath at the vision he created—the dark hair sprinkled across his chest tapered to a line that disappeared into his buckskin pants.

Her eyes snapped back to his cool blue ones. He regarded her silently as heat suffused her face. She readjusted the kettle on her hip. She’d seen men work before and knew they were more comfortable at times without their shirts. So why did seeing his bare chest do crazy things to her insides—things that had never happened before? She clenched her hands around the iron rim. Remember that he thinks only of himself, she told herself. You cannot trust him.

The corded muscles of his arms flexed as he dropped his shovel and started toward her. “Señorita Torrez. We need to talk.”

He stopped long enough to shrug into his shirt and slip on his hat before grasping her arm and leading her away from the others.

“Look at me that way again and everyone will know what you want.” His voice was low in her ear, nearly a growl.

She jerked from his strong grip. “You flatter yourself, señor. I was amazed to find an Anglo like you without a burn. That is all.”

“Right,” he said dryly.

“Well, you are so careful to protect yourself from the discomfort of a bullet. I imagined you would feel the same way about the sun.”

“Very funny—especially with it being winter. However, it’s not the sun that is scorching me right now.”

“Oh?” she said sweetly sarcastic.

“No. More the heat from your gaze.”

Flustered at his words, she snapped her jaw shut. He truly was a beast of a man—uncouth and improper.

“I’m surprised you’d be thinking about me at all after I disappointed you last night,” he continued in that smooth voice. “But it’s nice to know you care.”

“Do not twist my words.”

“You’re the one twisting mine—and a few other things, as well, I might add.”

Oh, he really was a wicked man!

He glanced over her and she felt her cheeks flush. She hated that he could create such havoc inside her. It made her feel weak, and she knew she wasn’t a weak person.

“What are you doing here…besides enjoying the view?”

“I came to collect my kettle, not that it is any of your concern.” Her nose went up a notch.

He glanced inside the pot. “Any soup left?”

“Are you hungry or worried I might toss it at you?” she asked with sugary sweetness.

“Take your pick. Either way it would be worth it to have you look at me as you did a moment ago—preferably somewhere less crowded.”

“Oh!” She sidestepped around him, having had enough. “Buenos días, señor!” She started across the plaza.

His low chuckle made her pause midstride even though she suspected he was baiting her with it. She turned back. What was he doing here? He didn’t believe in the cause so why hadn’t he left?

He waited, by his expression amused that she’d returned, but he did not tease her again.

“I am surprised to find you here…helping.”

The planes of his face shifted and took on a certain hardness. “Don’t think it’s anything noble or that I’ve had a change of heart.”

She shook her head quickly—too quickly, belying her words. “Of course not. How naive would that be?”

“My horse isn’t ready for another long trip yet. I’m just passing time—a day or two, until he heals up. Nothing more.”

She indicated the men working at the wall. “You are not one to be idle, then.”

“No. Never have been much of man of leisure. Doesn’t suit me.”

“I’m glad of it. There are too many lazy men about this fort. I’m glad to see you making things ready—preparing.”

“Oh, I aim to please you, señorita. Just for today,” he reminded her.

He was teasing her again, but it was different now—gentler, more amiable. This she could deal with easier than the tension-charged sparring she’d just endured. She let out a relieved sigh. “Just until your horse heals. I understand. Does the wound fester?”

He studied her, his deep blue eyes intent. “If you have a minute, I’ll show you.”

She hesitated. Such casual conversation with a man like him was new to her. Enticing, because he was so different than any man she’d ever met before—more rough, more reckless. Thrilling, too. Her parents, had they been present, would never allow such a conversation to take place. It would not have been proper.

His brow quirked up. “Looks like a war is going on between your ears, darlin’.”

She frowned.

“What worries you?”

“It’s not proper. Juan would not be pleased.”

“Seguín?” He thought for a moment and she was gratified he didn’t tease her again. “Understood. How about if we make sure to stay where we can be seen by others?”

She hesitated, but then nodded. “Sí. That would be acceptable.”

He led her to the open horse corral adjacent to the church. The handful of horses plodding around the pen seemed as aimless as the soldiers who lounged outside. The large enclosure’s adobe back wall doubled as the east wall of the fort and along it, a stall housed a large black stallion at least sixteen hands high. The horse stomped the dirt and whinnied as they approached, kicking up the odor of fresh straw and horse.

“Easy boy,” Jake said soothingly. He ran the flat of his hand over the horse’s neck and withers. An answering shudder vibrated through the beast as it quieted.

Victoria lowered her kettle to the ground and rubbed her arms. She was sure it was coincidence that she’d felt an awareness, too—as if his palm had been on her own skin. Disturbed, she shook the thought from her and stepped closer.

Jake stood near the horse, so that she had to move around him to check the gash on its hindquarters. She pressed the swelling at the stitches, noting the yellow drainage that oozed out. The horse stamped its hoof and snorted.

“Whoa, Fury.”

“Here,” she said, then moved her fingers lower on the gash. “And here, the wound festers, but only slightly.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Yes. A mixture of lard and kerosene to draw out the infection would help. I can make it up for you if you’d like.”

She turned to get his reaction and suddenly noticed how close he was. A full head taller than she, he had successfully enclosed her between the wall and his horse, although, as he’d promised, her skirt could be seen by those lounging the perimeter of the corral. The horse’s massive body blocked the rest of her from view. From here, the straight line of the Anglo’s jaw was all she could see, that and the stubble of beard that coated it.

He kept his palm on his horse, calming it as he met her gaze. “You’re not afraid of this big animal, are you?”

She smiled at such foolishness, tugging on the gold hoop earring in her ear. “I’ve been around horses all my life, señor. Why would I be afraid?”

He leaned closer, and the scent of musk and leather enveloped her.

She lowered her hand.

“You’re not afraid of me, either.” Under the brim of his hat, his eyes darkened. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek with fingers roughened but gentle. His touch left a trail of tingles behind.

Her breath hitched. “Should I be?”

He tilted her face toward his. “Definitely, señorita.”

Her heart beat faster, caught as she was in his spell. “You cannot be trusted to act the gentleman?”

He focused on her lips, his intent now obvious. “Never learned how.”

A lump formed in her throat. He wanted to kiss her. She swallowed hard. It wasn’t proper. She should resist, but she was curious. His lips, set there in the middle of his dark day-old beard looked impossibly soft for someone so tough. How would they feel against hers? How would he taste?

He lowered his mouth to hers. Warmth rushed from his lips to hers, sending heat through her body. Not unpleasant at all, she thought, adjusting her lips slightly to his mouth. He slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer, his mouth firm against hers now, moving, opening…

Her heart raced. The only time she’d been kissed before, she’d been sixteen. Esteban’s fumbling kiss was child’s play compared to this man’s kiss. This was not a sweet request for a mutual sampling, but a demand, hard and full of need. Passion penetrated it—daring her to satisfy her curiosity at her own risk.

Even though continuing might place her teetering on the brink of peril, she was not ready to stop yet. Tentatively she relaxed her lips, allowing his tongue to touch hers. Fire rushed to her center, searing her, melting her resistance. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. Perhaps this was more than she could handle. Suddenly her knees weakened and buckled.

He broke off the kiss and caught her, supporting her effortlessly. He set her from him and stared at her, confusion clouding his face.

Stunned at the intensity of his kiss, she forced herself to straighten, finding her legs beneath her still unsteady. Heat flamed in her cheeks. She covered them with her hands. That had been more than she’d expected.

Without a word, she edged around him and started across the corral.

“Señorita.”

She heard his call, but kept going at a brisk clip. She had to get away from him. Had to think clearly again. He was dangerous. More than she’d ever imagined.

“Victoria!”

Oh, this wouldn’t do—calling after her like a common soldadera. Anyone could hear. Juan could hear. She dragged in a great gulp of cold air and turned to give him a scathing retort.

He held up the kettle. “You forgot this.” As she reached for it, he pulled it close to himself. “I’ll carry it. It’s the least I can do if you’re going to help my horse.”

Thank goodness he did not mention the kiss. Her emotions whirled around her in chaotic images, embarrassment foremost in her mind. “I can manage.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.”

He wasn’t teasing her any longer. His eyes were serious. Her breathing finally slowed to normal. “Thank you.”

He walked beside her as they left the fort and crossed the footbridge over the San Antonio River. She barely noticed the two little boys throwing stones into the water as she hurried across the wooden planks.

“Victoria…about what just happened,” he began.

She swallowed hard and looked straight ahead. “I am sorry for it, Señor Dumont. Please do not recall it.”

“It’s nothing to be upset about.”

“You do not understand.” Part of her was embarrassed, but another part deeper inside was thrilled and that made her all the more dismayed at herself. How could her body betray her like that? “You do not understand,” she repeated.

He put a hand on her arm, gently slowing her steps. “Explain it to me then.”

Now he was kind. What was it about this man that called to her so? “I can’t. It…it isn’t you. I’m angry with myself. What I did would mortify my parents. How could I let you touch me? You’re—you’re not even Catholic!”

He pulled her to a stop. “Now wait a minute. I think I had a little influence on what just happened, too. Don’t shoulder the whole thing like some martyr. And, Victoria, it was just a kiss!”

It was far more than a kiss to her. If he wasn’t affected by it, it just proved how innocent she was and how foolish. Exasperation with him and with herself lent anger to her words. “Oh! You…you… hombre!”

His gaze narrowed.

She was getting worked up to a fine temper but couldn’t seem to stop. “There is nothing nice about you! Do not talk to me anymore. And give me back my kettle.” She faced him and, grabbing hold of the large pot, she tugged it toward herself.

He kept hold of the rim.

The glare she gave him should have burned him to a crisp. He was just too mean to disintegrate into smoke. When she tugged on the pot again, he finally let go.

“Strange,” he said, staring down the street. “Seems awful quiet today. Wonder what’s going on?”

She followed his gaze and for the first time noticed that the gun shop was closed and the milliner’s, too. “Perhaps Lieutenant Colonel Travis has allowed some of the men leave to check on their homes. Juan said he was going to request it first thing this morning.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced and still scrutinized the side streets and yards.

Victoria cleared her throat, drawing back his attention. “I can make it the rest of the way myself,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

He stepped back and tipped the brim of his hat. “I’ll just say good day then, Señorita Torrez. And thank you.”

Conscious that he watched her, she strode down the street, not slowing her pace until she reached Juan’s doorstep. Before she stepped through the portal, she couldn’t help glancing back at him. He’d already turned and headed back to the fort.

“Good,” she murmured to herself although she remained irritated at him. She had important things to consider, and his presence made it difficult to think rationally.

However, once she entered the parlor she couldn’t think of anything but his kiss. The caress had been important to her and it hurt to know Señor Dumont hadn’t been as taken with her as she was with him—even if curiosity had been her initial reason for kissing him. She touched her lips, wondering that she could still feel the insistent press of his mouth against hers. They had been soft…and smooth. Oh, so smooth. Her hands clenched. The hombre!

She walked into the kitchen and let out a shriek.

Chapter Five

Esteban stood in the middle of the kitchen, his chest heaving as he sucked in air to breathe. Sweat rolled down his forehead and dampened and curled his black hair. His uniform clung to him.

Recovering from her initial reaction of fright, she ran to him. “Esteban! What are you doing here?” she whispered frantically. “Is it my parents? Do you have word of them?”

“They are gone.”

“No!” she cried. “No! I should have been there with them.”

Esteban shook her gently by the shoulders. “Victoria! Quiet yourself. They ran off in the night. The army searched for a day and found no trace of them. Food was missing, and horses from the corral, so I know they slipped away. And Santa Anna did not want to search longer for one old man and woman.”

“My parents are not old!” she said indignantly.

“The officers were not overworried at their disappearance.”

Calculating the days since she’d last seen Esteban, she paused. “You did not have time to return all the way to Laredo since I last saw you. How do you know this?”

Esteban hesitated slightly. “From my second in command. He sent word.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “They will return when it is safe to do so, just as I hope to. I have to believe that.” She looked over his blue uniform. “You aren’t safe here dressed like that. Let me find something of Juan’s for you to wear.”

“No. Victoria—wait. There isn’t time.” The urgency in his voice had her turning back to him from the doorway. “You cannot stay here. You must leave immediately and get to safety.”

“Is it Santa Anna? Is he near?”

He nodded. “A few miles out. I raced to get here.”

The church bell started clanging, startling them both. Victoria felt Esteban’s grip tighten on her shoulders, almost hurtful before releasing her. In the streets, men shouted to each other. She glanced out the window. A woman with a baby wrapped in her arms was hurrying toward the fort. A young child, clinging to her skirt, slowed her progress.

Her chest tightened. “It has finally happened, then. All that we have feared.”

“There was never a doubt.”

“Oh, Esteban! You take such a risk coming here to warn me.”

“I will get back before anyone knows I am missing. It’s you I’m concerned about.” He glanced about the room. “Quick. Gather your things. Come with me.”

The determination in his voice frightened her. “But I must go to the fort with the others!”

He pressed his lips together. “No. Victoria… please come with me. I’ll protect you.”

She shook her head. “You should go back now,” she said firmly. At his worried expression, she threw her arms about his neck. “I will be fine. You are dear to me, Esteban. Stay safe.”

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