Her Inheritance Forever

by Lyn Cote

  The hombre and his companion laughed. “Mendoza talked to us about you. We might have something you want. Perhaps we can make a deal.”

  At the sound of their dark, mocking laughter, Scully wanted to grab them from behind and crack their heads together.

  “Perhaps,” Quinn said, without revealing any particular interest.

  “It is crowded here, amigo,” the outlaw drawled with a grin. “Let’s go where we can talk in privacy.”

  Scully stared at Quinn and winked once.

  “Why not?” Quinn rose. “Let’s step outside.”

  The two hombres and Quinn sauntered out the rear entrance. Carson looked over at Scully. With a slight motion of his head, Scully told Carson to go outside and enter the alley from the right side. Then Scully drained his glass and with a wave to the barkeep sauntered outside as well. Then he hurried cautiously around the building along the other side, heading to the rear.

  Pulling his pistol from his belt, he remained hidden at the side of the cantina and listened to the voices in the alley.

  Another of the bandits said, “Mendoza told us to collect the money and then we’ll tell you where what you’ve come for is.”

  Scully heard a noise behind him and turned. He saw a man who also held a drawn pistol. They stared at each other for a moment, each of their pistols pointed at the other’s heart. Then the man motioned with his pistol for Scully to go toward the voices. Scully nodded and backed toward the alley. When he reached the corner of the building, he edged around, keeping his back to the cantina wall, his pistol covering the other man. When the two of them entered the alley, Quinn looked up.

  The man Scully was facing said, “Look what I found when I made a sweep around the cantina. I didn’t think our man would come alone.”

  Scully smiled, his eyes flicking over each man in the alley. He wondered where Carson was. “Of course not. Now if you have what we want, where is she?”

  “Where is the money?” the bandit asked.

  Scully said, “We’re not giving you any money.”

  “Then you do not get the señorita,” the man who’d approached Quinn inside sneered.

  Scully gripped his pistol, ready. “I think we can—”

  The man with Scully jumped sideways and fired at Quinn. And then pistols barked, sending lead flying everywhere. Using his pistol, Scully took down another man who charged into the alley, and then dropped one more with his tomahawk.

  When the smoke cleared, Quinn was kneeling beside the man who’d been doing the talking. Four others were lying dead around them.

  Carson dropped down from a nearby roof. “I made every shot count.” And he had. He’d brought down more than one.

  People peered into the alley and then hurried away. Scully wondered if there was any real law in Matagorda. He had expected no help from Mexican law officers if they were in town, but whoever was the law here couldn’t avoid gunshots. “We should get away. Fast. There are probably a few Mexican troopers in town to keep the peace. Bring the one that’s still breathing along. We need to question him if we can and find out where Alandra is.”

  Quinn rose and dragged the wounded but unconscious man with him. “Right. Let’s move. Now.”

  A man dressed in a blue and white uniform, aiming a musket, entered the alley farther down and called in Spanish, “What’s going on down there?”

  Quinn nodded toward the man he was supporting. “There’s been a shooting. This one’s still alive. Where’s a doctor?”

  Scully was impressed with Quinn’s cool voice. He hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, but managed to sound like merely a witness.

  The soldier looked confused. He obviously didn’t know what to do in the face of Quinn’s calm manner.

  “Where’s the doctor?” Quinn repeated.

  “At the end of this street,” the soldier said. “Do you know these men?”

  “Never saw them before in my life.” Quinn dragged the limp man past the soldier, who started toward the dead men. When Quinn turned the corner at the end of the alley and was out of the soldier’s sight, he said, “Quick. Empty the man’s pockets. Something’s not right here. This one looked and acted like he’d already pulled a trick on me, and that’s a bad sign. What does he know about Alandra or Mendoza that we should know?”

  Scully and Carson made quick work of searching the man and found a pouch, bulging with gold coins. Scully shoved it inside his buckskin jacket. Where had the man gotten all this?

  Still dragging the man, Quinn proceeded down the length of the alley and onto the street, heading for the doctor’s office. Meanwhile, Scully and Carson returned to their horses, picked up Quinn’s horse, and led them to the doctor’s office.

  After a moment Quinn came out and climbed into his saddle. “Have you figured out where Alandra is—if she’s here? Or should we hang around till he gains consciousness? And question him?”

  Scully sensed that Quinn had already come up with the same guess he had, but was letting him make the call. “Let’s go to the two ships in the harbor. He’s not going to wake up anytime soon, or maybe at all. We can always come back here if we don’t find anything. But I’d just as soon not be connected with the likes of him.”

  Quinn nodded.

  Scully kept his eyes moving, looking around at the people walking by. “Anyway, the bandits must have come here to deliver her to a ship. Otherwise, there was no reason for coming to Matagorda. And I don’t think the hombre that approached you worked hard for years to earn this gold. He might have already—” Scully stopped. He couldn’t bring himself to say that he might have already sold her.

  Quinn agreed. “That’s what I’d decided while I sat there waiting for Mendoza. Matagorda is the best harbor on the coast. They didn’t head here for the Gulf breezes.”

  “Was Mendoza in the alley?” Carson asked.

  “No, he wasn’t. But this bunch looked capable of killing him if they wanted all the gold.” Quinn fell in behind Scully, and the three of them turned their horses toward the narrow street to the quay.

  Once there, while they reloaded their weapons and looked over the two ships, Scully debated what course to take. The ships looked about the same, except that one had a slightly disreputable air. The battered and shady appearance of the crew, but more than that, how they eyed passersby, made him think they had something to hide.

  He hefted the soiled leather bag of gold lifted from the bandit. Had they gotten this gold from one of these two captains in exchange for—His mind shut down again, unwilling to think of Alandra in such peril. He made his decision then. Why not just take the straight course?

  In a low voice, he said, “Quinn, you come with me. Carson, you remain ashore. If you hear gunfire or one of us shouts, come in ready to fight. You seem to be good at that.”

  Scully walked to the closest ship and up its gangplank with Quinn at his back. On board, he was directed to the captain in the fore of the deck. Scully frowned, holding back his first inclination, a direct challenge to the captain. But when a man went looking for a fight, he’d surely find one. If he gave the man a way out and money too, it might get him what he wanted—Alandra’s freedom and safety—without shedding blood.

  The deck rocked underfoot. Scully tossed the bag of gold in one hand, playing with it. He spoke to the captain, an unpleasant looking man with greasy hair. “You speak English?”

  The captain shook his head, and Scully switched to Spanish. “I’m looking for my wife. I’m afraid that we had an argument and she decided to run home to Vera Cruz. Her name’s Alandra Falconer.” Scully lightly tossed and caught the pouch of gold, making the coins rattle and clink. At the same time, he readied himself to grab his pistol and put it to the man’s head.

  The captain watched him toss and catch the gold once, twice, three times. And he looked over Scully and Quinn and made an obvious inventory of their long rifles, pistols, tomahawks, and Bowie knives. And it didn’t hurt that they smelled of fresh gunpowder smoke. And maybe the gunsh
ots in the alley had been heard here, down at the quay.

  The captain finished weighing and measuring them and gave a bark of a laugh. “I wondered why a lovely young woman would be traveling alone. You should keep better control of your wife.” He turned to a sailor and ordered him to bring the woman onto the deck.

  And there was Alandra, coming up from below deck. She looked terrified, starved and beautiful. Scully had to wrestle down his spiking anger. Seeing her like this made him want to mow down every man on the ship. He even felt capable of taking their scalps. They didn’t deserve to live. But sanity and the pull toward her, the urge to protect her, won out.

  Without a word, he dropped the pouch into the man’s hand and went to her. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her off the ship. Quinn, with pistol drawn, followed in their wake.

  Twelve

  With Alandra up behind him, Scully led Quinn and Carson out of Matagorda. He held his horse back, keeping them all moving at a normal pace to avoid attracting any attention. But in truth, he craved nothing more than to urge his horse into a dead run, heedless of the roiling dust. He wanted to stretch and widen the distance between them and what had happened in Matagorda.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Alandra, grown so precious to him. She had rested her smudged cheek on his back and encircled him with her arms. But she had yet to meet his gaze. Now that she was here with him, he couldn’t grasp the fact that he had actually found her. How had it happened? How had they found her in the chaos that now was Texas?

  After putting Matagorda several miles behind them, his concern for Alandra made him slow his horse. “Do you need anything?” he asked her.

  She glanced up but not into his eyes and muttered, “I’m thirsty.”

  He drew up his canteen and opened it for her. She drank long and finally handed it back, still avoiding his gaze.

  Then she asked, “How did you find me?”

  Scully’s mind only brought up images of Matagorda, the bandits, the ship captain. Then the battle and slaughter at Goliad jumped in too. But he couldn’t put any of it into words. “I don’t really know. It all happened so fast.”

  “Where are the bandits? Did you see them?” She clutched his chest and peered around him as if afraid they might be pursued.

  He pressed her hands clasped in front of him. He noticed her wrists chafed red and raw from being bound and simmered with anger. “We killed all but one, and he’s probably dead by now.”

  She shuddered against him as if he had just poured cold water over her, and he wished he knew how to comfort a lady. “I’m going to keep you safe,” was all he could whisper to her.

  Quinn and Carson had ridden up and now flanked Scully’s horse on both sides. Quinn leaned forward and spoke gently. “Alandra, Mendoza was in on this, right?”

  “They shot him.” She covered her face with her trembling, dirty hands. “He got sick. They shot him.”

  She’d seen more murder done. Scully murmured soothing sounds to her, worry bubbling up in him.

  “Where was this?” Quinn asked.

  She raised her head and looked around. “It was not far from Matagorda…in a grove of poplars…an abandoned jacale…near a creek…” Then she slumped against Scully’s back, burying her face in his shirt.

  He looked at Quinn and shook his head, telling him without words that there would be no more questioning. He felt her gasping against him. She was crying and trying not to show it. He folded one hand over hers.

  Along with Quinn and Carson, Scully scanned the area, looking for the grove of poplars near a creek that Alandra had mentioned. He would have liked to find Mendoza alive so he could smash his fist into the man’s face. But what did that matter if the man was dead?

  “In my experience, it takes a lot to kill Mendoza,” Quinn commented. “Let’s go on a ways, find a creek to camp by and refill our canteens. And if we find the jacale and him, so much the better.”

  A few miles later they found a clearing by a stream in the canebrake near the Colorado River that had led them to Matagorda. They made camp early. Alandra was obviously done in and needed attention. Scully chewed his lower lip, wondering what he could do to help her.

  She looked like a different person, and not just because she was so soiled and unkempt. She looked caved in, somehow, as if a fearful silent stranger had come to live in her body. That worried him. He knew how to provide food and water and rest for her, but she needed more than that. He wished Mrs. Quinn was there with them. They were going to head back to the plantation at Buena Vista, but it would take them two days, and Alandra needed tending now. I’m her husband. It’s up to me to help her. But how do I do that?

  Carson had waded into the creek and caught several plump bass. Now, he sat on the bank and cleaned the fish. Scully had unsaddled his horse and set his saddle on the coarse grass. He stood near Alandra, who sat on the ground, leaning against it, resting. He gave her some pemmican to chew while Carson went on preparing supper.

  “I can’t remember when I ate last,” Alandra muttered, watching Carson.

  Scully slid down and sat beside her. Her pitiful condition cut him. He had never seen her so beaten down. “It won’t be long till we eat. That pemmican is all I have left from our provisions. I’m surprised I had anything.”

  “What day or date is it?” she asked, sounding lifeless.

  “Around March twenty-fifth, I think. We’ve been all over East Texas, and I’m losing track of time.”

  “Where’s Santa Anna?”

  Scully didn’t want to give her more bad news, but he wouldn’t lie. “We don’t know, but he’s said to be coming east.”

  She nodded.

  It felt funny, sitting there trying to catch up on things when so much had happened. He didn’t want to, but considered the possibility that Alandra had been…He couldn’t make himself even think the ugly word. He winced inside, thinking about what might have happened to her. Again, his lack of understanding of women and their emotions tangled up inside him. I don’t know what to say or do to make it better.

  Quinn watched Scully and Alandra and felt bad as he could, actually worse than he thought possible. When Santa Anna crossed the Rio Grande, Quinn hadn’t realized that his peaceful existence and those of the people he loved most would be shot to smithereens. Alandra might lose her land to relatives. Dorritt, pregnant, had ridden all the way to Buena Vista. Mendoza had come back to mess around in their lives again. And it was only by God’s grace that they’d found Alandra. So much could have prevented them from saving her from that ship. He tried to shut out what might have happened to the girl they had raised, but failed to protect.

  He had no doubt that when Scully handed the ship’s captain the bag of coins, the man was merely getting back the gold he’d just paid the bandits for Alandra. There were brothels all over the Caribbean islands and Mexico. A beautiful and light-skinned young woman would have been worth a lot in gold. She might even have ended up in New Orleans. These thoughts made Quinn queasy. Thank God, they’d come in time, just in time. Who knew how many days it would have been before that ship sailed away?

  That turned his mind to finding the jacale where Mendoza’s body might be. Had Alandra seen aright? Had the bandits turned on Mendoza and killed him? I have to make certain this time. I want to know for sure that he’s done for. I don’t want him creeping up behind me or my family again.

  Quinn quietly swung up onto his horse, bareback. He waved to Carson, and not wanting Scully and Alandra to know where he was going, told Carson in sign language that he’d be back before dark. Then he nudged his horse toward the sun low on the western horizon. He’d go up one side of the creek, then cross over and down the other until he found the jacale or it got dark.

  A few miles along the river’s canebrake, Quinn found a grove of poplars and a jacale. He drew his weapons and approached the hut cautiously. The sun was quite low now. He checked his powder and then swung down from his horse and crept forward. No sound came from the jacale. He rea
d the ground around the derelict hut and saw that there had been horses and men there not long ago. Just outside the thin mesquite pole and mud wall, he waited, listening. Finally he pushed open the rude door and looked inside.

  A body lay sprawled faceup on the dirt floor. Quinn edged inside and muttered, “Mendoza? Mendoza?”

  The body didn’t move. Bending low, he crept closer and nudged the man’s boot. Nothing. Blood pooled around the body on the dirt floor. Quinn straightened up, moved to the man’s head and looked down into Mendoza’s dirty face. He knelt and lifted one eyelid. Dead. The man who tried to kill him years ago had finally come to his own violent end.

  Quinn frowned. Mendoza would never do anyone any harm again. But the man’s death didn’t make him happy. He said a prayer in his mother’s language and then one in Spanish, then stood and wondered how he would bury the body. He had no spade with him.

  It occurred to him that he could set the jacale afire, with Mendoza in it. The weather had been so wet, there probably wasn’t much danger of starting a wildfire. But the jacale was not that far from where they had camped, and he didn’t want to call attention to them.

  Quinn went outside and, with strips of leather he carried in his saddlebag, secured the door to the jacale shut. The hut would have to be Mendoza’s tomb. A fitting end to a wasted life of a man no one would grieve. Then he mounted again and headed back to camp.

  After dark, Alandra stared into the fire, sitting against Scully, still unable to meet his eyes. His solid presence was all that kept her from losing control and descending into hysteria. Carson had roasted the fish he caught on a hot rock in the fire and had salt for seasoning. She’d eaten two fish and then made herself stop. Though very hungry, she didn’t want to eat too much on her still unsteady stomach.

  In fact, not just her stomach was unsteady. When she walked, the ground felt as if it were moving underneath her. She fought this, and also could not crush the need to be within touching distance of Scully at all times. And she hated herself for this weakness. Where was the brave doña she had been?