by Hebby Roman
Davie edged closer, hoping Hayes knew to do the same. Finally, a few yards separated him from the secret gathering.
“I told you, I don’t know how the next payroll will come,” Dawes’ voice drifted to him. “I nosed around and found out Commander Gregor no longer uses the stagecoach line.”
“How does he transport the money?” Carlos demanded.
“By wagon, over ranch trails, but he changes the route each time.” Dawes shook his head. “I couldn’t find out which way the money will be coming next.”
Carlos made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You’re of no use to us. We’re done, Sergeant.” He turned toward his mount and gathered the palomino stallion’s reins.
Dawes hobbled forward, grunting. “Not so fast, you owe me money. I told you about the stagecoach. It was the way the former commander moved—”
“A useless piece of information.” Carlos whirled around and placed his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. He spat at Dawes’ feet. “Why should I pay you for nothing?”
Davie saw the other Mexicans’ hands move toward their guns.
It was now or never—and he hoped Hayes knew it, too.
He stood up with his Colt leveled on Carlos’ chest and called out in Spanish, “Your guns, caballeros, throw them down. ¡Ahora mismo!”
Carlos went for his gun, and Davie shot. The bullet whizzed past the Mexican’s shoulder and lodged in the silver-embossed saddle on the palomino. The horse neighed and reared. He came down and snorted, taking off down the hill.
Hayes emerged from the bushes and yelled in English, “Throw your guns down!”
He shot at the other Mexican who was standing beside Carlos, stopping him from reaching for his rifle in its scabbard. The bullet buried itself in his horse’s neck, and the roan crumpled.
Carlos stared at Davie, and he drew his gun.
Davie shot him between the eyes.
By this time, Dawes was screaming, “Let up, let up! Quit shooting!” He tried to lift his hands into the air but couldn’t, needing to hang onto his crutches.
Seeing their leader fall, the remaining four Mexicans threw down their guns and spurred their mounts, galloping away.
Davie took a bead on one and shot him off his horse. Hayes did the same. The other two men were out of range before they could get off more shots.
Dawes had dropped to the ground and was scrabbling in the dirt, sobbing over and over, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. I ain’t no Mexican.”
The Mexican beside the downed roan, like Dawes, had dropped to the ground and had his hands crossed behind the back of his head.
Davie and Hayes stood over Dawes and the Mexican.
“Search them,” Davie croaked.
“Cover me,” Hayes said.
Davie cocked his Colt and leveled it, sighting down the barrel, while Hayes checked the two men for hidden weapons. He found a long, wicked-looking knife tucked in the Mexican’s boot and threw it away. He discovered a hidden derringer in Dawes’ trouser pocket.
Looked like Dawes hadn’t trusted the Mexicans.
Hayes glanced up. “That’s it. No other weapons.”
“Get up. We’re taking you both in,” Davie said.
“I can explain,” Dawes sputtered, clambering to his feet, using the makeshift crutches to lever himself. “I was leading them on—”
“Save it, Dawes. We heard what you said.” He punched him in the back with the barrel of his revolver, which still had two bullets in it. “You can explain—to Commander Gregor.”
* * *
Crissy heard the knock on the commander’s front door. She had a pretty good idea who would be calling at this early hour.
Peggy, who was sitting at the kitchen table, doing her lessons, jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Crissy said. “You need to keep after those lessons.”
She pulled her hands from the sudsy water and wiped them on her apron. She’d been washing the breakfast dishes.
When she opened the commander’s front door, it was who she’d suspected. Davie stood on the front porch, holding his wide-brimmed hat in his hands.
“May I come in?”
“No, I think not.” She pulled the door closed behind her and joined him on the front porch. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Peggy is doing her lessons, and I’ve enough trouble, keeping her concentrated without a visitor, especially a visitor who’s the big hero of the day.”
“So, you’ve heard.”
Of course, she’d heard. Quicker than any telegraph wire, Davie’s killing of Carlos, along with his capture of Dawes, had been the first thing Maxine mentioned this morning. Besides, all the fort was buzzing with the news.
“Yes. I heard.”
She bit her lip. She’d underestimated Davie, thinking he was too devil-may-care, but his actions told another story. “You’re to be congratulated for stopping them.” She shook her head. “We don’t need any more orphaned Ellies because of men’s greed.”
Her mother had been right. Carlos had been an evil man, sending his thugs to kill innocent people so they could steal the Army’s money. Not to mention what Dawes had done, throwing in his lot with the Mexicans.
“Thank you, I’m glad you approve.” She thought she detected the slightest trace of sarcasm in his tone.
“Oh, Davie.” She uncrossed her arms. “You’re a hero! Do I need to say it out loud?”
He dropped his head. “No, I’m glad I could stop them. I was afraid they’d try again and more people would be…”
“Hurt or killed.” She nodded. “You did the right thing.”
“Well, I’m glad then.”
“Yes.” She didn’t know what more to say.
Though she might have changed her mind about Davie’s frivolous nature—where did that leave them? He’d appeared to be trying to make amends yesterday at the consecration, but he still hadn’t declared himself or courted her properly.
He rubbed his chin. “I’m to leave within the hour.”
“Back to México? But why?”
“No, I need to take Dawes to Fort Sam Houston to be court-martialed, along with the Mexican we captured. The Army will have to get with the Mexican authorities to decide what to do with him.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“That’s why I wanted to come by and tell you.” He shook his head. “And the commander has warned me; these legal things have a way of dragging out. I could be gone for a month or more.”
“So long?”
“Yes.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded paper. “I wanted you to have this—for Father Fernández. It’s the sketch for the lectern. I hope you like it, and the Father approves.”
She took his sketch and unfolded it. She exhaled. “Oh, Davie, it’s lovely, truly lovely.” She looked up and smiled. “I’m sure the good Father will like it.”
He returned her smile. “Sure, and begorrah, it brought me luck—you asking for that sketch. I was drawing when I heard Dawes meeting with the Mexicans. They met behind his cabin, right above the pond, where I was sketching.”
“What a stroke of luck!”
“Yes.” He stood there, twirling his hat in his hands, and looking decidedly unsure of himself. “Crissy, since I’ll be gone for so long, could I kiss you goodbye?”
She thought about his request. He had done her sketch, but he still hadn’t addressed their future. If they had a future? Who knew?
He might be away for a long time. Just yesterday, she’d learned the true extent of her mother’s suffering. She was still having trouble dealing with what her mother had told her.
Besides, every time she let Davie touch her, she turned to water. Better to wait and see if he came back to Fort Clark and what he intended to do.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“But…” He looked down again and nodded. “All right. I understand. I’ll write
you, though. All right?” He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes.
“Yes, I would like that.”
* * *
Crissy unpinned Davie’s picture from above their bed. Mama had encouraged her to hang it there, saying such a beautiful sketch shouldn’t be hidden away. And her mother had been right, despite her ups and downs with Davie, she studied it every night before she went to bed, marveling at his talent. She folded the drawing and tucked it into her apron pocket.
Then she turned and surveyed the room. All their belongings had been sorted and packed, placed in wooden crates. Dr. Irving—Isaiah—had found the crates for them. There were three crates and her carpetbag left. Those were her things. She was moving in with Commander Gregor and his daughter.
Mama and Isaiah had married yesterday, at the Kinney County Justice of the Peace’s home. Her mother was free to marry in the Catholic Church, but Isaiah wasn’t a Catholic. It had been a small and quiet ceremony with Crissy and the Justice’s wife as witnesses.
They’d spent their wedding night at the doctor’s home on the fort. Crissy had been lonely without her mother.
She couldn’t help but remember how happy her mother had looked on her wedding day, wearing a plain brown muslin dress, and clutching a bunch of wildflowers Isaiah had gathered for her.
First thing in the morning, Isaiah had sent two privates to haul her mother’s things to his home. And the good doctor had offered to have them take her belongings to the commander’s cabin, but she hadn’t finished packing. She looked around at the shabby room—she’d be glad to leave this place and gossipy Maxine behind.
She sighed and sat down, folding her hands together, wishing she knew what to pray for. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what she wanted. She was keeping her job as housekeeper, for now, but with her mother safely married, she was free to return to the Ursuline Convent… to live her life in peace… away from all the ugliness of the world.
Was it what she wanted?
Davie had already been gone over a month. He’d warned her court proceedings could drag out. But he had written her, as he said he would. In his letter, he’d declared his love and asked her to marry him again. It seemed he was more eloquent on paper than in person, about serious things, at least.
Perhaps, if she’d allowed him to kiss her that day, he would have declared himself. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Would it?
She didn’t know if she wanted to marry anyone—not now. Though, sometimes, when she was lonely, despite the hustle and bustle of the fort, she wished she possessed her mother’s resilience and trust.
Someone knocked on the back door. She got up, thinking Isaiah had probably sent back the privates to help. She still needed to roll up the bare mattress to keep it from getting dusty and leave the key with Maxine.
She didn’t have any furniture to move, nor had her mother. When her father had died, they’d sold off the few pieces of furniture they’d brought from San Antonio, hoping they could live on the proceeds until her mother found a job.
She sighed again, wondering what was pulling at her in this awful room. All the furniture belonged to the Brackett’s.
Slowly, she got to her feet, moving as if she was old and lame. She wasn’t, but her spirits were low. Mulling over what she wanted to do with her life, made her feel as if she was walking underwater, moving against a strong current.
She opened the door.
Davie stood on the stoop in his full-dress uniform, twirling his flat-brimmed hat in his white-gloved hands. And he’d won back one of his stripes, too.
Oh, my, he looked good enough to eat—with his turquoise eyes shining and his dimple deepening when he smiled.
She gasped and fell into his arms.
He held her, burying his face in her hair, and kissing the top of her head. “I guess this means you’ve forgiven me?”
“I guess so.”
“And you missed me?”
She snuggled her head into his shoulder, not wanting to let go. Realizing this was what she’d been missing. Now she understood how her mother had overcome her fears and learned to love again.
His touch brought her back to herself, filling her heart with joy. How could she have doubted the strength of what they felt for each other? She reached up and stroked his jaw, reveling in the bristly feel of his chin.
“Of course, I missed you, silly.”
He smiled. And then she did something she’d thought about for months—she caressed the deep dimple on the left side of his mouth. He laughed and lowered his head.
She knew he wanted to kiss her. And heaven help her, she wanted him to kiss her, too. But not here, not on the open stoop.
She pulled him inside. The mattress was bare, but it would suffice. Would knowing Davie, in the most intimate sense, put her fears to rest and help her make up her mind? But would she appear wanton, offering herself?
Would he think, as he might have in the beginning, like mother, like daughter? It wasn’t quite fair, though, because he had no way of knowing everything her mother had been through.
He followed her inside the room and glanced around. His eyes widened, and she saw a flicker of alarm in the depths of them. “You’re moving? Where are you going? Where’s your mother?”
She smiled, realizing he’d come straight to her, not stopping to talk to anyone. He must love her.
“I guess you haven’t heard.” She tugged on his hands, pulling him closer to the bed, wanting to feel his skin against hers. Needing the reassuring thump of his heart in her ears. Longing for him to take her and make them one.
“Mama and Dr. Irving, Isaiah, were married yesterday. They’ve moved into his cabin on the fort behind the surgery. I’m moving to the commander’s house.” She kissed his cheek. “Hold me, please, Davie, and don’t let me go.”
“I never want to let you go. I hope you got my letter and—”
“Yes, I received it. Thank you.” She stroked his cheek again. “I’ve missed you so much and so much has happened.”
“I’m amazed your mother married,” he said. “Is she feeling better?”
“She’s much better. Thank you for asking. Isaiah knew how to make her well.”
He took both her hands and kissed them. “Oh, Crissy, I’m happy for you and your mother.”
She reached up and put her arms around his neck.
His lips captured hers and the touch of him was beyond anything she’d remembered. She kissed him back and drew him forward. When she felt the bed with the back of her legs, she sank into the mattress, pulling him with her.
Davie fell on top of her, and his mouth ravaged hers.
She could feel his male hardness, pressed against her bunched-up skirts. She wanted him, all of him, inside of her. She kissed him with all of the pent-up passion she’d kept locked inside, these past weeks.
Davie stroked his tongue inside of her mouth, making her crazy with longing. He put his hand on her thigh and caressed her leg through her petticoats. He lifted her skirts and stroked her calf.
She shuddered, every nerve in her body coming alive. She held him closer, kissing him deeper, twining her tongue with his, encouraging him.
He slid his hand beneath her petticoats and up her thigh.
She trembled, waiting for him to touch her in that most secret of places.
He stopped suddenly and pulled his hand from beneath her skirts. He put both his arms beside her head and pushed himself up, gazing down at her.
“Crissy, it’s not supposed to be like this.” He shook his head. “I’m over the moon, knowing you want me… but I want you for… forever. Not just for now. Do you understand?”
He nuzzled her neck with his lips, and she caught her breath.
Davie was a good man, an upright man. Not like her mother’s first husband or the men who’d used her. Was today about her passion and missing him… or had she, without knowing it, fashioned a kind of test?
She wasn’t certain of he
r motives, except she knew she loved and wanted him.
He kissed her on the mouth and got up. He held out his hands and pulled her to her feet. “There,” he said, “let’s talk about us and getting married.”
She gazed into his eyes. He was asking her outright, to her face, not just in the pages of a letter. Her eyes burned and she struggled to swallow, stifling a sob. “Oh, Davie, you really mean it?”
“Of course, I mean it. Why would you—?”
“My mother… all that my mother has been through.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I thought you wanted to take advantage of me like my mother had been—”
“Crissy, my Angel.” He grabbed her hands. “I heard the gossip about your mother a long time ago.” He shook his head. “It meant nothing to me, except for wondering how cruel people could be with your mother ailing.
“I’ve not been a perfect man, but I never wanted to take advantage of you.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Being almost thirty and thinking I would stay single and in the Army for life, I’d not thought much about marriage or what it would take.”
He squeezed her hands. “I know it made me seem confused or uncertain or… And I know, too, because of what you and your mother have been through, trusting men is probably not—”
“No, you’re right, it’s been difficult. I remember the day of my sixth birthday. My mother tried to give me a party.” She looked down. “But none of my friends came. I was so hurt, I cried myself to sleep. Later, most of the neighborhood girls and my new friends at the convent shunned me. They talked about my mother, saying horrid things. It was then I learned…”
“Oh, Crissy, I’m sorry—”
“And the day of the consecration,” she continued, “Mama told me more about her past. How, before I was born, she knew Carlos’ father and he hurt her, Davie. He hurt her.” She gulped and sobbed.
He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, my Angel, I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” He kissed her forehead. “I wish I’d known. I’d have killed Carlos’ father, too, when we were in México.”
She pulled apart a pace. “You would?”
“No man should ever hurt a woman. No matter the circumstances.”