by Pam Crooks
“You will soon enough.”
Taking it slow, Jeb pushed open the thin wooden door and was glad for the lamp Simon had left burning for them. Comprised of only a single room, his home was furnished simply with a bed on one side and a small table and chair on the other. A woven mat covered the dirt floor. In one corner, their gear lay in a tidy heap and waited for their return.
“Lie here on the bed,” Jeb said.
She eased down onto the straw mattress and released the breath she’d been holding from the effort, then lay back against the pillow and opened her arms for her son. Jeb settled him snugly within them.
“Nicky, oh, Nicky.” She fought tears and peppered his face with kisses while Jeb unbuttoned her shirt. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Ma-ma-ma,” he said, and tangled his fingers in her hair.
She hugged him tightly. “I love you, sweetheart. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Jeb pulled the shirt from her waistband and encountered her chemise, soaked with blood. A moment later, his knife’s blade slit the fabric wide-open, exposing the wound on the lower curve of her waist. He winced at the small hole torn into her smooth skin.
Elena stopped nuzzling Nicky. She glanced downward with a frown. “This is my only chemise, Jeb. You’ve ruined it.”
“Too bad. Can’t fix you up if I can’t get to you.”
He cleaned away the blood with a damp cloth and examined the damage the bullet had left behind. Gunpowder singed the outer edges. There was no exit wound, and Jeb guessed she’d been almost out of range when she’d been hit. If she’d been closer to the shooter…
She strained to see around Nicky, lying half on top of her. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. Bullet’s still in you.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “Now what?”
“I get it out.”
“Jeb, I—” She bit her lip.
“It’s just under the skin. I can see it well enough,” he said, poking, prodding.
“I’m not so sure about this.”
“I am.” He strode to his saddlebag and removed the wooden case holding his surgical tools. He removed his bottle of whiskey, too. As an afterthought, he put it back.
He opened Elena’s valise and found her father’s elixir instead.
She would prefer it anyway. Besides, the medicine would work as well as the whiskey. Better, most likely.
“Take a dose of this,” he said, pouring the dark liquid into a spoon. “It’ll help dull the pain.” He assisted her in sitting up, and she swallowed from the spoon.
“I know,” she said with a half smile and leaned back on the pillow.
The door opened, and Simon stepped inside, looking harried but in one piece.
“Glad you could join us,” Jeb said, declining to tell him he’d begun to worry.
“It has been a long time since I ran so fast.” Seeing Elena, Simon’s black eyes rounded. “Por Dios. You have been hurt?”
“Yes, but I’m going to be fine.”
“I was just getting ready to take out the bullet,” Jeb said, removing long tweezers from the case.
Simon strode toward the bed to see Elena’s injury for himself. He clucked his tongue in sympathy.
“You have already been through so much, Elena,” he said quietly. “And still you must suffer. But at least now you have your son back, eh?” He reached out a gnarled hand to stroke Nicky’s black curls. “A beautiful boy. Beautiful.”
“Yes,” Elena murmured, and kissed him again.
No one spoke of his strong resemblance to de la Vega, or de la Vega’s determination to claim him, or the likelihood their troubles were far from over. Nicky stared with wide-eyed innocence at the wild hair Simon sported, then reached up and grabbed a handful of it. Simon yelped outrageously and made a game of trying to free himself. Nicky grinned at his antics.
Most likely the boy reminded Simon of his own children, or his grandchildren, Jeb mused. The family de la Vega and his men had killed that fateful night when they had raided his village.
“Thank you for all you did for us tonight, Simon,” Elena said softly as Jeb poured elixir on a cloth and dabbed it on the wound, cleaning and numbing the skin.
“I did nothing,” Simon said with a shrug. “You were the one who was in the most danger.”
“All I did was ride over and pick him up. You knocked Doña Pia out of the way so I could.”
“Sí. But only a small thing.”
She reached over and covered his fingers with her own. “They will know you conspired with Jeb and me against them.”
“Ramon was wrong to take your son like he did.”
“You will not be safe here anymore.”
“I live only to avenge my family,” Simon said.
“I fear for you—oh!”
She yelped at the sting from Jeb pushing the tweezers into the hole at her waist, going for the bullet. His hand was steady, and the instrument found its mark. He held up the slug.
“You were damn lucky it’s a small caliber,” Jeb grunted. “Didn’t do the damage it could have.”
“It still hurt,” she said, pouting.
“Would’ve been worse without your father’s elixir,” he countered, saying the words before thinking of them.
“True.”
Jeb finished bandaging the wound, then cleaned his tweezers and put them back into the wooden case. “You’re going to be plenty sore tonight, but if that elixir does what it’s supposed to, you’re going to feel a lot better tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Jeb thought of his recent bout of malaria, and that he, too, knew firsthand how powerful Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound was. How quickly it healed. How pretty damned amazing the stuff was.
He stood. “Get some sleep, Elena. Do you have to tend to Nicky first?”
“Yes. He needs a fresh diaper.” She sat up stiffly.
“Stay put,” Jeb said. “I’ll get your valise.”
She eased back again. “Thank you.”
He brought the case over and laid it within easy reach. Elena assured him she needed nothing else, and Jeb left her to get herself and her son ready for bed. He followed Simon outside, then pulled a cigarette and match from his pocket.
The night air felt crisp. Clean. The skirmish at de la Vega’s camp seemed a world away. Not a sound broke the stillness, a peace Jeb knew wouldn’t last long.
He scraped the match against the adobe, touched the flame to the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. His thoughts whipped into turmoil. Where was de la Vega now? Scouring the mountain, looking for them, furious with revenge? Or back in his hideout, planning his strategy with his men?
Wherever he was, Jeb and Elena hadn’t seen the last of him. Jeb didn’t know how far he would go to take his son back. Once Jeb whisked Elena and Nicky across the border, saw them reunited with her father in San Antonio, would they be safe even then? Would de la Vega defy the American authorities and hunt them down beyond state lines?
Jeb had the sick feeling he would.
The proud revolutionary wouldn’t suffer the humiliation of his son’s kidnapping well, not in front of his men, and by a woman, no less. He’d be honor-bound to retaliate. And with the shipment of rifles expected any day, he’d be more desperate than ever to find Elena and Nicky as fast as he could.
Elena was in serious danger. It scared Jeb how much danger she was in.
He couldn’t protect her alone. Her injury was a troubling setback in their escape. They should be riding hard toward the border right now, not holed up here in Simon’s home.
Jeb scanned the trees that surrounded them, all those branches and leaves that could hide a dozen men so damned easy. If de la Vega discovered them hiding out, Jeb might not know until it was too late.
“You are worried, Señor Jeb,” Simon said quietly.
“Cards are stacked against us. I’m fresh out of aces right now.”
“Sí. There is only us against so many.”
>
“Us?” Jeb drew in on his cigarette. “This is my fight, Simon. My responsibility to keep Elena and the boy safe. Not yours.”
“How can I not help?” He sounded offended that Jeb would think otherwise.
“You’ve been a big help already,” Jeb said and meant it. “One of us must go to Fort Duncan across the border to tell the American soldiers.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Jeb considered going himself. He could ride faster than the old peasant. He had the endurance. A strong horse. He had the knowledge and the credibility to convince the officer in charge that a wagonload of rifles was coming and an American woman and her child were hiding for their lives, and to send a score of men into the Mexican hills immediately.
He thought of Lieutenant Colonel Eugene Kingston and the troops at his disposal. Of Creed, in California by now, halfway across the country. Surprisingly enough, he thought of the General, too.
What would William Carson do in this same situation? Consult his tidy little rule book? Or go by his gut feeling?
Jeb always went by his gut feelings—and they told him he couldn’t leave Elena.
Suddenly Simon chuckled. “You do not trust me to take care of her as well as you can, eh?”
Jeb frowned. “It’s not that.”
Or was it?
“You would only worry about her while you were gone,” Simon said, conviction in his tone. “I will go, then. I will ride all night.”
“It’s too dangerous. And that damn burro of yours won’t—”
“You forget I have lived here my whole life. I know the hills and the hidden trails that will get me to Texas faster than you think.”
Jeb hesitated. “A shortcut?”
“Many shortcuts.”
He drew in again on his cigarette. His resistance crumbled. It would be the smartest solution, after all, having Simon go in his place. But, given the old Mexican’s eccentric appearance, would the commanding officer believe anything he said?
“I’ll send a letter with you,” Jeb said.
A missive would be the next best thing to going himself, the documentation the United States Army would need to prove Simon spoke the truth. Jeb had already sent Kingston a wire explaining the circumstances surrounding Corporal Nate Martin’s death; the letter would substantiate that the situation had worsened.
“Sí. A good idea.” Simon’s agreeable nod sent his frizzed hair bobbing.
Jeb crushed the cigarette stub beneath the toe of his boot and slipped quietly back into the adobe. Elena was sleeping, lying on her side, her arm around Nicky, sleeping, too.
He found paper and pencil, sat at the table and wrote a brief note, making sure his signature was clear. On an afterthought he added a postscript, demanding that General Carson be contacted should there be a lack of belief in the contents of the note.
Or if Jeb and Elena ended up dead.
Simon tucked the note into a leather pouch of food and supplies he slung over his shoulder. Jeb handed him a pistol.
“Use this if you have to,” he ordered.
“It is you who will be in more danger,” Simon said, but he found a place in the pouch for it. “I am riding away from Ramon. You are staying near him.”
With the truth of Simon’s words lingering in Jeb’s mind, he watched the old man ride away until the night swallowed him up within its inky shadows.
Jeb reentered the adobe and strode to the bed. In the frail glow from the lamp, he watched Elena sleep.
If only he had shot de la Vega bursting through the smoke screen tonight, and not two of his men, then the revolutionary would be dead now. Instead, he was very much alive, furious and more determined than ever to take Elena out of Nicky’s life.
The stakes, already high, had doubled.
They looked peaceful together, mother and son. Innocent and vulnerable and so in need of his protection Jeb’s heart pounded from the force of it. Or was it a possessiveness that went beyond his patriotic duty to help an American woman and her child? An unspoken, unrealized, need to keep them alive—just for himself?
Had he fallen in love with Elena?
Maybe. Probably.
He swallowed hard. Yes, he had.
He didn’t know what would happen if he succeeded in banishing de la Vega from her life forever. When she had no further need of him. Would he ever see her again?
Elena’s eyes fluttered open. Gently removing her arm from around her son, she eased to her back and speared her fingers through her hair with a lazy sensuality that stirred his blood.
“Where’s Simon?” she whispered.
“Heading to Fort Duncan.”
She frowned. “At this hour? Why?”
“We need reinforcements. As fast as we can get them.”
Worry crept into her expression. He didn’t want to worry her any more than he had to.
“Got room in that bed for me?” he asked, changing the topic to one more appealing.
She glanced over at her son. Her mouth softened. “I think we can find some.”
She gently moved Nicky to the edge, next to the adobe wall where he wouldn’t roll off. She scooted to the middle of the mattress with only a small wince prompted by her injury, then patted the empty space she’d made.
“It’s not much,” she said, apologetic.
The bed was barely large enough for two people, let alone three. It suited Jeb just fine. He could think of far worse ways to spend the night than being crowded in a bed with Elena.
The mattress took his weight with a crackle of its straw bedding. Jeb shifted to his side and raised up on an elbow. The movement and their low voices evoked a wriggle and a stretch from Nicky. His lips puckered into a frown, and he sighed, as if he resented their intrusion into his sleep.
“Cute kid,” Jeb muttered, getting his first real look at him.
“Isn’t he?” Elena smiled, lifted his chubby hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.
“He’s got your mouth,” Jeb said.
Elena considered that. “He’s frowning right now. How can you tell?”
“It looks soft. Full. Like yours.”
Her head swiveled toward him on the pillow.
“Kissable?” she asked in a husky whisper.
“Damned if you aren’t learning to flirt with me, woman,” he growled, then lowered his head to rediscover how kissable her lips were. She arched her neck, just enough to show him she wanted him to kiss her, was ready for it. He took her mouth hungrily, forced himself to be gentle when he wanted to be rough, to bury himself inside her when she fueled his flames and fueled them high. The kiss lingered, long, deep and deliciously wet.
She had changed into a clean nightgown, the fabric light for sleeping on hot summer nights. His hand moved to her breast, and he filled his palm with the warm, supple mound. His fingers splayed, leisurely kneaded the soft flesh, discovering the fullness, the intense pleasure of it, until her nipple hardened, and she moaned.
He angled his head and kissed her again. Harder, longer, his blood hotter, his desire for her raging through his veins. Ribbons held the front of her nightgown together, and he ached to pull them free, to lick and suckle each rosy crest, but the memory of her bandaged injury was a damned abrupt reminder he couldn’t go any further, not if he wanted to keep from hurting her and not with Nicky in the bed with them. Gathering every bit of his restraint, he lifted his head.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Her mouth dipped ruefully in understanding, and he knew she felt his frustration just as much. She traced his lower lip with a fingertip.
“Thank you for all you did for us,” she whispered.
“Is that what our kiss was for?” He nipped at her finger with his teeth. “A thank-you?”
“The kiss was for me,” she said. “I didn’t think of the thank-you part until after.”
He grunted, pleased enough with the answer she gave. “You can thank me when I bring you back to your father. We’ve a ways to go yet.”
“That’s why you sent
Simon for reinforcements, isn’t it?” she asked. She drew her finger away. “Because you think the worst is yet to come.”
“Yes.” Her perception sobered him.
“More lives will be lost. American soldiers. Ramon’s men.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he hedged, the allure of their kisses shattered by reality.
“There will be. Because of a little boy.”
“And an illicit arms shipment. Two things, Elena. The Army and de la Vega want them both. But only one side can win.”
She peered up at him, her eyes troubled. “I just want to be away from this place.”
Nicky stirred again, a protest at their hushed conversation. Elena reached over and rubbed his back, and he quieted.
Jeb sat up, peeled off his shirt, tugged off his boots, then removed his holster. He set them all next to the bed, within easy reach. After dousing the lamp, he settled himself beside Elena and cradled her head on his shoulder.
“From here on out, all you need to do is take care of your son. Leave the rest up to me,” he said.
He felt her trepidation, but she said nothing more. Eventually her breathing deepened in slumber.
But Jeb lay awake a long time and wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter Fifteen
Jeb woke up to sunlight streaming through the window over the bed. He blinked from the cheeriness of it, needed a minute to remember where he was.
Simon’s house. In bed. With Elena.
He lay with his arm draped over her, his chest to her back, her bottom snuggled against his groin. Their bodies were molded and fitted together like a pair of spoons in a drawer.
Not a bad way to wake up.
She’d had an uncomfortable night. The bullet wound pained her, and she needed another strong dose of elixir. Jeb gave it to her, had stayed awake until she fell back to sleep. No fever, though. And her breathing was deep and regular. He hoped the worst of it was over.
He lifted his head to drop a sympathetic kiss to her temple, and discovered Nicky sitting up, watching him.
The boy grinned, rosy-cheeked and wide-awake, and so good-natured that Jeb couldn’t help grinning back.