Texas Angel, 2-in-1

by Judith Pella

  Lucie sighed.

  Juana patted the girl’s shoulder. “Come, pequeña, sit, and I will fix tea to have with those rolls. You must be hungry after riding all day, and it is a while until supper.”

  “Thank you, Juana, but I really want to see my father.” She forced a smile to her lips. The woman meant well. Then Lucie left the kitchen.

  A nice breeze was blowing through the dog run, which was, after all, the purpose of the open-air area. It became a necessity during blistering hot Texas summers, such as the one that was now descending upon them. Lucie followed the corridor toward the back of the house where her father’s study was located. She wondered, as she often did, what the old house built by her great-great-grandfather had been like. She had only a vague memory of it, but Juana had told her it had been of a hacienda style such as could be found in Mexico, with arched porticos and tile floors. But a devastating hurricane had destroyed it when Lucie had been but five, and her father had rebuilt it in the style of the American settlers, two rooms divided by the dog run. However, in the case of the Maccallum home, there were several more than two rooms. They had been quite prosperous in those days.

  When she reached the study, she heard the voices of her father and Pete. She hesitated before knocking. Maybe she should wait until Pete was done. But no, she missed her father and did not want to wait another minute. She raised her slim fist and tapped on the door.

  “Who is it?” her father said.

  “It’s me, Papa.”

  “Lucie, sweetheart! Come on in.”

  She opened the door and entered. Pete Barnes was seated before the large mahogany desk that had once belonged to Joaquin Vasquez. Behind the desk sat Reid Maccallum, his great hulk filling his chair, which was at the moment tipped back, precariously leaning against the wall. His laced fingers were propped behind his head, and he looked rather imposing, especially with his untamed red hair sticking up everywhere. But the grin on his face warmed Lucie’s heart down to its core.

  Reid righted his chair and quickly jumped up, striding out from behind his desk and into his daughter’s outstretched arms. He wrapped his own thick logs around her in a breathtaking bear hug, lifting her several inches from the floor in the process.

  “Papa!” she giggled. “Put me down. I’m not a little girl, you know!”

  “And what else are you, then?”

  “You’ll always be his little girl, Miss Lucie,” Pete said.

  “Oh well, then why fight it?” Lucie kissed her father’s cheek. “It is so good to see you.”

  Reid put her down, then held her at arm’s length. “You’ve grown and put a bit of meat on your bones.”

  “Not according to Juana.”

  “Ha! She won’t be satisfied until you are as fat as she, with three double chins besides.”

  They both laughed until Reid paused, taking a sudden gasp for breath.

  “Papa, what is it? Are you all right?” Lucie had seen this before in recent months since his heart trouble had begun.

  “Oh yeah, fine,” he said with a deprecating wave of his hand. “Some times my breath just gets a little behind, that’s all. Now sit in that other chair. I’ll just be another minute here with Pete.”

  “We can finish later, boss.” Pete rose. “Lucie deserves a chance with you before me.”

  “Thanks, Pete. Come on back after supper.”

  Lucie took Pete’s vacated chair. It was larger and more comfortable. “Papa, I am never going away for that long again,” she said after Pete left. “I feel like it’s been forever.”

  “You were the one who insisted on going,” Reid said.

  “Yes, I suppose I did have to twist that arm of yours, but you know Uncle Ramon preferred to turn the horses over to a member of the family. He didn’t know Pete or any of the men. Besides, I really did want to visit with my aunts and uncles and cousins. Goodness, there are a horde of them, too! At least a dozen more than when we last went there before the war.”

  “Well, they are your family, and it is good to keep up the ties.” His step seemed a bit heavier as he returned to his own chair. His color was a little pale, too. “Perhaps keeping up such ties will help hasten true peace between our two countries. Still, with all the unrest it was foolhardy of me to let you have your way.”

  “Papa, it didn’t burden you with any undue worry, did it?”

  “Of course it did!” he said with a gentle smile. “I worry about you whenever you are out of my sight. Guess I’m worse than a mother hen.”

  “I didn’t think before I left that it might make you ill.” She eyed him closely. Sometimes he seemed so well that it was hard to remember his illness.

  “You are back safe and sound, and that’s what matters. I would have worried a long sight more if I’d known about the Comanches.

  And rustlers to boot!”

  “So Pete told you?”

  “ ’Course he did, child! How else was he gonna explain the death of one of our vaqueros, not to mention the loss of seventy-five fine mustangs? And when I think how close you came—”

  “Papa . . .” Lucie leaned forward and, reaching across the desk, took her father’s hands in hers. “Please don’t strain yourself over it. Praise our God, it all came out fine. Did Pete tell you how one of the outlaws saved my life?”

  “Saved your life? What—”

  “Oops!” Lucie lowered her eyes and leaned back in her chair. It seemed Pete had been more discreet than she gave him credit for. “Nothing, Papa,” she added. “I forgot to tell you about the beautiful dresses I bought in Mexico City—”

  “I think you better tell me about this outlaw.” Reid narrowed his eyes in as stern a gaze as he was ever likely to focus on his daughter.

  “Out with it, Lucinda Maria Bonny Maccallum.”

  Lucie swallowed. When her father used her full name, he usually meant business. “Oh, it was really nothing to speak of. One of the Comanches grabbed me from our camp during the battle. He was riding off with me when a rustler shot him. I don’t know how he got there—the rustler, that is. I suppose he was in the process of stealing some of our horses when the attack started. He must have been caught in the stampede. We later found his horse with an arrow in the poor beast’s throat. But, Papa, you should have seen the incredible shot that man made! He hit a moving target at over a hundred yards and struck the Indian in the temple. I have never seen such shooting. And he said his vision had been blurry at the time from his fall.”

  As she paused to take in a breath, she noted her father was staring, or rather gaping, at her incredulously. She smiled weakly. She had probably again said more than she should have. But she was just too accustomed to telling her father everything.

  When Reid finally spoke, his voice was barely a tight gasp. “Why, the fool!”

  “He saved my life, Papa.” She didn’t know why she was defending the man. Yes, he had saved her, but he was also a thief, and he had used her as a hostage to escape. All that must negate his heroism. But somehow it didn’t.

  “He could have killed you with that shot. It was a fool, stupid thing to do.”

  “I guess it was.” But she wasn’t convinced. “Anyway, I had a feeling he knew what he was doing. But no matter—he could have stayed hidden, let the Indian carry me off, then slip away himself, unnoticed. But he even came over to make sure I was all right after the Indian’s horse fell. And he caught me when I fainted and stayed with me until I came to, even though he could have been caught at any time. Eventually he was.”

  “What’s this?” Reid leaned forward raptly. The color had returned to his face. “Did my boys get that rustler?”

  “Well . . .” Her father wasn’t going to be happy at all when he heard the rest of the story. But why should it matter if her father was happy about some rotten rustler?

  “Come on, Lucie, all of it,” prompted Reid.

  “The men came over before he could get away. Then one of them identified him as a rustler because he had knocked him out—”


  “Who knocked whom out?”

  “The rustler . . . um . . . knocked out our guard. Well, at least he didn’t kill him, now, did he?”

  “You seem a bit defensive of this man.”

  “He saved my life.”

  “He also stole our horses—”

  “We don’t know that. They could have been lost in the stampede.”

  Reid ran a hand through his wild hair. “Do you realize it is not likely your rustler was working alone? Pete said he found several tracks up on a ridge overlooking your camp. Figures there was four of them. Pete decided to round up what he could of the mustangs rather than pursue the outlaws. But other tracks indicated they almost certainly got away with a good number of our horses. Moreover, Lucie, before you start glorifying those men, it was pretty heartless of them to ride off when they could have helped defend my men against the Comanches.”

  “They didn’t all ride off.”

  “You said yourself that fella’s horse had been shot out from under him. He had no choice.”

  “But he did, Papa.”

  “Let’s not argue over the matter, child. Of course you are grateful to the man. I suppose I am a bit, too. But don’t ever forget he is still a criminal. Pete is gonna ride into San Antonio tomorrow and speak to the ranger captain and see if there can be some sort of search for those men. It is likely they thought they were stealing from Mexicans. They will see what a costly mistake that was.”

  Lucie didn’t like it when steel glinted in her father’s hazel eyes. She knew that though he was as loving and gentle as a father could be, he was also a strong, tough man. He had to be to survive in this rough frontier.

  “Yes, Papa,” she murmured contritely.

  “Oh, Lucie, I don’t want you to think I am angry with you.” He rose from his chair, walked around the desk, and kneeled down before her.

  He took her chin between two fingers and lifted it. “Come now, let me see a smile.” He prodded her with his own grin.

  “Papa, will those men hang if they are caught?” She just couldn’t smile.

  “You know the law.”

  “Even the one . . . ?”

  Reid nodded gravely to her half-spoken question.

  “He was just a boy.”

  “A boy, you say?” When she nodded, he added, “A handsome boy?”

  “Papa!” But her blazing cheeks belied her protests.

  “Handsome or not, young or not, he is still a thief. If nothing else, he stole Pete’s best saddle horse. He surely knew what he was doing.”

  “I suppose so . . . but Papa, if he is caught, could you mention what he did for me?”

  “I’ll think about it, my love, but only if you give me a smile.”

  Lucie did smile then because he asked, and it was hard to refuse her father. But also because she knew he was a fair man and would see that justice was done in the case of the young outlaw if he were found. She still secretly hoped the handsome heroic criminal was never caught.

  CHAPTER

  4

  LUCIE HAD WANTED TO GO to San Antonio with Pete but simply could not justify leaving her father so soon again. Besides, what did she hope to gain by giving her side of the story to the authorities? Not that they would give much heed to a woman anyway, especially a young one.

  But why did she feel so compelled to defend that rustler? Over and over she tried to convince herself that he was bad, a thief, maybe even a killer. But she wasn’t convinced. Instead, Lucie kept remembering the gentle way he had held her when she nearly fainted. She had been conscious enough to feel his arms around her, and she even recalled a brief glimpse of his utterly distressed expression at her plight. She had caught a flicker of something else deep in his eyes. A wounded look, perhaps? And the kindly words he had spoken. He had been truly concerned for her. What she tried not to think about was his fine-looking visage. Eyes as blue as a Texas sky, hair like a red-gold sunset descending over that sky, and dimples forming in his ruddy cheeks when he smiled. And that smile! It had only flashed momentarily, but it had not been the smile of a hardened outlaw. Maybe that’s why Lucie felt so compelled to come to his defense. It seemed to her when he had knelt over her, his concerned expression softening to that smile, that he was simply a nice boy. A boy her father would probably like. And now she was almost sure it was so. He had just taken a wrong turn in life and needed to be nudged back to the right path by a caring friend.

  Her?

  Well, she doubted she would ever find out. More than likely she would never see him again, and that was just as well. She didn’t want to see him again, not if it meant he had been caught. Besides, her father would never let her be friends with an outlaw, even an ex-outlaw.

  Lucie did, however, remember one thing she could do for the young man who had saved her life, one way she could repay him even if she never saw him again. She knew someone else who cared about him.

  “Dear Lord, I think it is all right to pray for outlaws, isn’t it? Now that I think of it, even you prayed for the outlaw who hung on a cross next to you. Well, I pray that my outlaw never gets to that place. I suppose it is wrong to pray that he never gets caught, but I do pray that if he is, you will somehow take care of him, protect him, maybe even help him to find you. I guess it is safe to assume that since he is an outlaw, he must not know you very well. I saw good in him though, just in the few minutes of our encounter. He saved me, Lord, so I pray you will save my outlaw.”

  My outlaw, Lucie mused. What a silly notion. But he certainly was God’s outlaw if not hers. And thus, she left the young man—she did not even know his name—in God’s hands.

  “Lucie, we have company,” her father called from the front of the house.

  Lucie had been in her room taking a rest after the midday meal. Her room was the coolest in the house on these hot summer days. She rose from her bed and patted out the wrinkles in the beige-sprigged calico of her day gown. It was not her best dress for receiving guests, but if they had come unexpectedly, they surely would understand. She glanced in the mirror of her dressing table. There was not time to give her hair the attention it needed. The unruly curls never obeyed her combs and pins, but at least the long braid at her back, carefully plaited that morning by Juana, looked presentable. She repositioned the combs, doing her best to tame the dark auburn tresses. Papa often said her riotous mane best represented the mixing of her wild Scottish blood with her beautiful Mexican heritage. She thought it was usually more wild than beautiful.

  As she entered the parlor, she saw the Carltons from the neighboring ranch had come to visit—Axel, his wife, Violet, and their son, Grant.

  “Good afternoon,” Lucie said with a smile at her guests.

  The men stood and bowed slightly, offering polite greetings. Axel kissed her hand. He was from Virginia and fancied himself a true gentle man. Grant just grinned at her. He was twenty-one and fancied himself Lucie’s prime suitor. Lucie didn’t fancy either of them. She thought both Carlton men were too full of themselves. But she had to admit that Grant did appear to be prime husband material. In a land where the men were supposed to outnumber the women by ten to one, she had found precious few decent prospects—not that she was looking.

  “We were so happy to hear you had come home,” Violet said. “Come, sit by me and tell me all about your trip.” She patted a place beside her on the couch.

  Lucie liked Violet well enough, though she could be a bit simpering at times. That Virginian breeding, Lucie supposed. But she had been a good friend of Lucie’s mother and had always been kind to Lucie. Before taking a seat, Lucie offered refreshments, but her father said Juana was already seeing to them. So Lucie sat next to Violet, who immediately put her arm around Lucie’s shoulders in a motherly fashion.

  “Your father tells us you were in Mexico City,” Violet said.

  “It was my first time—my first time in any large city, actually,” Lucie replied. “I have never seen such splendid buildings. The Church of Santo Domingo, which I believe is the
largest church in the Americas, was breathtaking.”

  “We don’t hold with Papist trappings,” Axel said dourly. “Not any more, since Texas is free of all that.”

  “Oh . . .” Lucie swallowed. She was not Catholic either—a sore point with her Mexican relatives to be sure—but beauty was beauty, and the cathedrals were awe-inspiring. She tried to politely counter Axel Carlton’s rudeness. “Well, of course, there was much more in the city. Violet, you would have loved Alameda Park and the splendid court ship ritual that takes place every Saturday afternoon. The young girls, decked out in all their best finery, circle the fountain while the young men circle in the other direction, all hoping to meet a future mate. My tia Maria took me there.”

  “And did you join the ritual?” Violet asked breathlessly.

  “Oh no. I would not want to marry a man who lived so far from home.” Lucie regretted her words the minute Violet’s gaze skittered toward her son. To cover her discomfiture, she quickly added, “And the shops! Papa gave me money to buy some new things, but I had the hardest time deciding. After we have refreshments, Violet, you may come to my room and see what I bought.”

  “That would be delightful!” Violet exclaimed.

  “One day Texas will be just as prosperous as Mexico,” Axel said.

  “If we can ever get out of debt,” Reid said.

  “And curb all the lawlessness,” Grant added.

  “You are right there, son,” Axel said. “Reid, our cattle were raided again. Those cursed Mexicans stole a hundred head—” He stopped suddenly as his wife daintily cleared her throat with a warning glance at Lucie. “Ah-hem. Well, of course, Lucie, my dear, I don’t mean you. I hardly think of you as Mexican at all.”