While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  Beth chuckled. "Nathan, you have been a beast! But how thankful I am that you and I shall not be at daggers drawn any longer."

  His face still contrite, he muttered, "You pamper me, Beth. You should have taken me to task before now and not have let me spoil your own enjoyment. Please, in the future, do not allow me to do so."

  Beth smiled mistily up at him and reached up and gently kissed his cheek. "Very well, then, be warned that when I snap at you, you have given me permission. I'm afraid that I am developing a shocking temper," she teased.

  "You? Not my Beth! It was your sweetness of temper that first drew me to you—don't disillusion me now."

  When they met for dinner, Sebastian noticed the air of warm intimacy between them and drew his own jealous conclusions. As they exchanged affectionate glances throughout the meal, his heart sank.

  The fact that Nathan refrained from commenting on the quality of the food and the service did not escape Sebastian's notice either. His green eyes narrowing, he watched the way Beth smiled at Nathan and the way Nathan directed his conversation to his wife, making her laugh. The meal was an ordeal for Sebastian, and he spent most of it torturing himself by imagining how Beth had charmed Nathan into this amiable frame of mind.

  He excused himself abruptly from their table and declined to join them for a short after-dinner stroll. "You'll forgive me if I don't accompany you? I have already made plans for the evening."

  It was a lie, but he departed, uncertain whether to challenge Nathan to a duel or shoot himself. His quick temper one flick away from exploding, he left the hotel and wandered into a small tavern not far away and ordered a whiskey.

  The tavern was not pretentious, but it showed signs of attempting to raise itself above some of the others in the area. The wooden floor was polished and clean, the walls were white, and a scarlet, blue, and yellow Mexican blanket had been hung for decoration. The tables and chairs were of oak and the long bar was of mahogany. A crystal chandelier looked strangely out of place dangling from the open-beam ceiling.

  Sebastian drank in silence; the tavern seemed at first glance to be empty except for himself and the bartender. Then he stiffened as he noted the presence of a third man.

  The man was only a dark outline in the shadows, sitting just beyond the light cast by the chandelier. His dusty black boots and long legs were visible; a thin stream of smoke curled near his head and the red tip of a cigarillo glowed in the shadows. Sebastian had the unnerving impression that the other man was staring at him.

  His emotions lacerated by the sight of Beth and Nathan together, Sebastian was spoiling for a fight and decided that he didn't like the stranger's stare. His jaw set aggressively, he started to walk over to the man, only to be halted when the stranger in the shadows murmured, "Still as hot-tempered as always, young man? It is perhaps good that a pistol is no stranger to you."

  At the sound of that slightly accented voice and the sight of those dark, lean features, the smoke-gray eyes glittering with cynical enjoyment, Sebastian's face broke into an incredulous smile. "Rafael!" he cried. "What in the name of God are you doing here? I hadn't expected to see you until I reached the hacienda."

  Chapter 8

  A lazy smile curving the full mouth, Rafael Santana regarded the eager young man across from him and put out the thin cigarillo. "I do not, amigo, stay in the environs of San Antonio when Don Felipe is in residence at the rancho. Even you should have remembered that."

  Sebastian's face lost a little of its pleasure and he cursed himself for not remembering, not only that Rafael and his grandfather were as companionable as two vipers, but also that his father had told him that Don Felipe was making one of his infrequent visits to the family rancho near San Antonio. "I'd forgotten your grandfather was there." An uncomfortable thought assailed him, and, after swallowing nervously, he asked, "He isn't staying, is he?"

  Rafael laughed, the gray eyes filled with cold amusement. "No. If you take your time traveling to San Antonio, you should miss him by several days. He is leaving, I believe, this Monday for Mexico City."

  His mercurial spirits restored by the news that he wouldn't have to undergo the ordeal of a meeting with the vitriolic Don Felipe, Sebastian grinned at Rafael. In a voice totally lacking in regret he murmured, "What a pity."

  Rafael laughed. "I can see that you are greatly disappointed in not seeing my esteemed grandfather."

  They conversed for several moments, exchanging family news. It was when Rafael suggested that Sebastian might like to travel with him for a brief visit to Houston, and then together they could travel on down to San Antonio and the Santana hacienda, that the conversation took an uncomfortable turn.

  Sebastian reluctantly refused, and when Rafael asked why, he shot him a wry look. "Well, if you must know, it is a woman. I met her on the packet coming from New Orleans. She is leaving tomorrow for San Antonio; I intend to be with her." Despite the anger with which he had stalked away from Beth, infatuation got the better of him and reverently he breathed, "She is an angel, Rafael, the most beautiful, the sweetest, the—"

  "Enough!" Rafael interrupted ruthlessly. "There are no women who are angels, amigo. None!"

  His face taking on a stubborn expression, Sebastian replied doggedly, "Well, she is. I intend to marry her."

  "I cannot wish you well, but I will not wish you ill. I'm afraid I cannot view the state of matrimony as anything other than a hell that the devil created for the unwary."

  There was such venom in Rafael's words that Sebastian was taken aback, but then, remembering Consuela, he decided that there was good reason for Rafael's statement. And Rafael, thinking that he had been harsh on Sebastian, said more calmly, "When do you plan to wed—at San Antonio? Or will you be going back to New Orleans for the event?"

  Sebastian squirmed in his chair, and as he hesitated, Rafael's eyes narrowed to silver slits, and he drawled, "Could it be that the lady is not free? That she is the type of woman who doesn't relieve herself of one husband before finding another?"

  The green eyes angry, Sebastian snarled, "Do not say anything against her. I will not allow even you to slander her."

  Rafael's thick black eyebrows flew up and a considering glitter entered the gray eyes. "She means a great deal to you, this woman."

  Stiffly Sebastian answered, "Yes, she does. She is married, but I do not think it is a happy marriage; if possible I intend to do something about it."

  Rafael's dark face revealed nothing as he sank back into the shadows and absently lit another of the black cigarillos he preferred, his mind busy with what Sebastian had just revealed. He didn't like it at all, and he was doubly certain that Jason wouldn't want his youngest son embroiled with this kind of woman—an older married woman who preyed upon wealthy young men. Idly he considered demanding an introduction to Sebastian's "angel," but he dismissed the thought almost at once. At the moment he didn't have the time to destroy Sebastian's unfortunate attachment. But if the creature proved too clinging or if by the time Sebastian reached San Antonio he had not come to his senses and recognized the woman for what she was... then something would have to be done. The gray eyes hardened and Rafael smiled thinly—it might be amusing, he decided grimly, to teach Sebastian's "angel" the dangers of casting her lures so unwisely.

  An awkward silence fell after Sebastian's defiant words, and for several seconds neither man spoke as they sat sipping their whiskey. Anyone glancing at them would have guessed at once that they were related as they both possessed the long, steel-muscled bodies of men used to action, the same panther-black hair, and the same strong, devastatingly masculine features. And yet there was a great deal of contrast: Rafael's face was harder, leaner, perhaps crueler; his skin was burned Comanche bronze by the hot Texas sun, tiny lines radiating out from his startling light eyes. Sebastian was everything that was bright and gay; his eyes were eager and full of life; Rafael's were icy and inscrutable. Even in their smiles there was a difference—both had full, beautifully molded mouths, but while Seb
astian's curved easily into laughter, Rafael's often had a caustic slant and his laughter usually held a derisive note.

  The silence became too much for Sebastian and, looking over at Rafael's remote face, he said, "This is hardly the way I expected our first meeting in two years to be."

  Rafael shrugged, and then he grinned, his face appearing much younger, much more approachable. "Me either. I guess we are both a little too hotheaded for our own good. Why don't we just forget this conversation took place and meet as good friends at the hacienda, hmmm? By then, you will either have stolen your lady love or have decided she is not the angel you first thought, and we can meet as friends and not as enemies."

  Sebastian agreed eagerly, his hero worship of his older relative making him more than ready to grasp the hand of friendship so quickly extended. The air of tension evaporated and they fell into the rapport they had shared since Sebastian had first attached himself to his tall cousin some ten years before.

  Staring across at Rafael as he lounged in his chair, Sebastian noted the changes the past two years had wrought. Deep grooves furrowed down the lean cheeks and enhanced the air of violence that was so much a part of him. In the sweat-stained calico shirt, the tight-fitting calzoneras, and the black boots with the roweled spurs, Sebastian thought, Rafael did indeed look the renegade that he had been called so often in his youth. The black hair was unfashionably long; the leather belt riding low on his lean hips carried a holster with one of Samuel Colt's new revolvers in it. Sebastian knew from past experience that his cousin was a deadly shot with any pistol—and with something like the new Colt repeating pistol he would be doubly lethal.

  Taking another sip of his whiskey, Sebastian asked, "What are you doing here? You never did say."

  Rafael grimaced. "Remember Lorenzo Mendoza, Consuela's cousin?" At Sebastian's nod, he continued, "Lorenzo has been acting as an agent for Mexico—at least I'm fairly certain he has, as are several others. He travels much of the time amongst the Comanches, attempting to convince them to join with Mexico and help drive us out of Texas. I generally end up following right behind him and undoing whatever he accomplishes." Rafael gave a twisted grin. "Which is why people think I am dealing with the Comanches and up to no good. But, getting back to Lorenzo, he's become aware of my actions, and this time he took pains that I did not find out where he went, so I haven't any idea how many bands of Indians he saw or what promises they gave him in return. I picked up his trail some days back and as it led here instead of San Antonio I grew more than just a little curious and decided to find out what brings him to Galveston."

  "Did you find out?"

  "Yeah," Rafael replied inelegantly. "I know he met with a fellow who supplies weapons to the Indians—which is why I'm heading out tomorrow for Houston. Sam Houston has several of his own agents spread out over the Republic, and I think he could use the information. Certainly he can see that steps are taken to make the climate unhealthy for our friend here in Galveston. Lorenzo won't have it as easy the next time he wants to make a deal."

  "Why don't you just expose him? Or kill him?"

  "Because, amigo, it is better to know where the snake is. I can connect him with the man here in Galveston, but I'm certain they would have a clever tale to cover themselves. As for the dealings with the Comanches—we have no proof... precisely. Can you see my dragging in a Comanche and having him explain that Lorenzo promised him great wealth if he would help drive out the tejanos? Lorenzo has entrenched himself with my father, and there are many respectable people who think highly of him—some are convinced I'm the disreputable one. Lorenzo would deny everything and the Comanche would end up being hanged or shot for daring to speak against a white man."

  Sebastian grunted in agreement, seeing the difficulty. But more than that he understood the great concern behind Rafael's words. If the Indian tribes united with Mexico it could spell doom to the Republic.

  It was a damned shame, Sebastian thought idly, that the United States had refused to accept Texas into the Union four years ago and had forced the Republic into its present situation—an independent nation fighting for its life. The Republic needed the protection and stability of the Union, but the free states of the North had not wanted to admit another slave state. The fervent hope of the majority of Texas had been shattered when the news had finally arrived that Texas could not take her place as a proud member of the United States.

  "How real is the threat from Mexico right now?" Sebastian asked.

  The gray eyes bleak, Rafael answered, "Too real. The Republic has survived only because Mexico has been busy with her own internal troubles. We can only continue to survive if we can stop her from inflaming the Indians against us." Rafael blew out a cloud of smoke and said quietly, "Since as early as '37 Mexico has been sending agents to meet with the Indians, first with the Cherokees in the eastern part of the Republic and, since that failed, now with the Comanches." Echoing Sebastian's thoughts earlier, Rafael said, "If Mexico can unite the various Comanche tribes, we will face our greatest danger as an independent nation so far. With the Indians attacking us from the north and the Mexican Army from the south, Texas would be hard-pressed to survive." Rafael leaned forward, the dark face intent. "The Antelopes, the northern Comanches, seem to be remaining aloof, and are refusing to listen to the Mexican agents." Rafael smiled briefly. "One arrived amongst the Antelopes last year when I was passing through, and while polite, it was obvious that the Antelopes feel they have no need to join Mexico. Pray God they continue to think so. But the southern Comanches are different. Have you heard of the meeting that is to be held in San Antonio in March?"

  Sebastian shook his head. Stubbing out his cigarillo, Rafael explained, "It will be a historic meeting if all goes well—for the first time ever the Comanches themselves asked for the meeting and Colonel Karnes agreed to it, provided the Comanches brought in all their white captives. And that" Rafael said grimly, "is where the problem will arise."

  "How? It seems straightforward to me."

  "It would be if you weren't dealing with Comanches. The southern Comanches, the Pehnahterkuh, are by far the largest of the Comanche tribes, and I fear that what they expect from the Texans is not what they will get. Nor do I think that the people of San Antonio are going to swallow the Comanche arrogance the way the Spaniards and the Mexicans did. The Comanches will demand gifts as they always have with the Spaniards and the Mexicans, and every captive they exchange will be paid for dearly. I don't think they're going to bring in all the captives as stipulated either—they'll bring them in one at a time and drive the best bargain for each one."

  Sebastian whistled under his breath, seeing the problem with uncomfortable clarity—the angry Texans demanding that their people be released and the Comanches, thinking they were dealing with the same sort of fear and abasement that had characterized their relations with the Spaniards and Mexicans treating the Texans like a conquered nation. Trouble there would undoubtedly be... unless there were some cool heads amongst the Texans.

  Rafael was thinking the same thing. "That proposed meeting could be a disaster—for everyone. If it doesn't work, it's going to drive the Comanches straight into the arms of the Mexicans. Then we really will have trouble." With a lightning change of mood, Rafael grinned. "Are you so certain that you wish to settle in the Republic, after all?"

  Sebastian returned the grin. "And miss a good fight? Of course I want to settle here."

  The conversation drifted and they talked until the early hours of Sebastian's plans and of the lands Rafael would show him. It was after Sebastian left for his hotel room and Rafael made his way toward the livery stables that the Comanche question returned to haunt him. The meeting in San Antonio could bring about so much good if successful, but if not...

  If only Sam Houston were still President, he thought savagely as he saddled his horse. Houston cared about the Indians, but Lamar, the current President, believed the only good Indian was a dead Indian. Rafael feared he intended to rid the Republic of Ind
ians—all Indians, and under any ruse that would accomplish that aim. Tiredly Rafael rubbed a hand across his forehead, almost giving into the desire to sleep a few hours in Galveston before riding toward Houston and a meeting with Samuel Houston. But he denied it, knowing his mind was too full of Comanches and the conversation with Sebastian to gain any real rest.

  The proposed meeting between the Comanches and the Texans in San Antonio preyed heavily upon Rafael's mind as he rode away from Galveston in those pre-dawn hours. He hoped that somehow, if there was any trouble, it wouldn't erupt into an orgy of bloodshed and fire along the entire frontier. Too many people would perish, he thought bleakly, Comanche and Texan alike.

  With an angry helplessness he remembered the massacre at Parker's Fort less than five years ago and the countless other encounters between Texans and Comanches that were only a foretaste of what could come to pass if the Comanches were mistreated or insulted at the peace talks in San Antonio. Rafael stirred restlessly in the saddle, recalling vividly the treatment meted out to the captives of the Comanches and knowing that if the frontier blazed into war the wailing of captives would be heard unceasingly on the prairies.

  Unable to find any solution, he let the thought of the Comanches fade from his mind and instead turned to speculation about Sebastian's latest folly.