The scene in the backyard made her stop so suddenly she fell back on her rump. Serena, her hair in tangled disarray as usual, sat in the mesquite tree, her feet swinging back and forth, watching her sister with detached amusement.
“Serri, I swear by all that’s holy, if you don’t come down this instant—”
Angie’s face was beet red; her hair falling all around her face, her fists waving threateningly at the thirteen-year-old perched above her. She swung back and forth slowly, suspended above the ground by her ankle tied securely to the tree Serena sat in.
Olivia didn’t know what to address first; the fact that Serena’s “project” had probably more than likely saved her sister’s life, or that they needed to get to safety as soon as possible. “Serri, cut your sister down. You can explain yourself later. Angie, I don’t want to know what you were planning on doing, but get the thoughts out of your mind.”
Angie turned her bright red face to Olivia, revealing the tears her older sister hadn’t seen earlier. “He’s in there, Vi. I have to go to him.”
Olivia’s heart ached for her sister, but there was nothing for them to do now. “Do you think he would want you to get killed, too? No. Lorenzo is a smart, courageous man. If anyone can get out of there alive, he can. There’s no reason to endanger your life too.”
With a snap, Serena had cut through the rope and Angie fell the short foot to the ground with a thump. “You little hellion! Just wait until I get my hands on you. Come down from there. Right now!”
Olivia grabbed Angie and spun her around, wiping at the tears that covered her younger sister’s beautiful face. “Angie, I know you are scared. We all are. But I need your help. You must be strong. Lorenzo would have wanted it.”
Angie drew a deep, quivering breath. “Did you see it, Vi? Did you see all of them? It was the most horrible—”
“We knew it was coming,” Olivia snapped, then pressed her lips together, trying to regain her composure. If anyone was going to hold this family together and keep them safe, it would have to be her. “It is terrible what is happening. We must take care of each other. Get inside the house. Take Serena. I’ll be there shortly.”
Angie’s eyes narrowed. “And what are you going to do? Don’t leave me out of it this time. Don’t exclude me.”
“I’m going to board the windows. Maybe if they think no one is here, they won’t search as much. Everyone else that left did just that. Maybe it will look like we left, too.”
Angie drew in a deep breath. “I’ll help.”
Olivia wanted to tell her no. She wanted to tell her to hide in the safety of the house with everyone else so that she wouldn’t have to worry about her. But Angie needed to take her mind off the terrifying cries drifting on the wind.
She nodded. “Vamanos. Get everyone to safety and then come help me.”
Angie nodded then caught Serena as she tried to race by. “I’m not through with you.” She growled, hauling the girl towards the house by her ear.
“Some thank-you.” Serena snapped. “I kept you from doing something stupid... again!” Her words ended on a small yelp as Angie shoved her through the back door.
Olivia turned to follow them then paused, listening. The cries were dwindling. The gunfire was becoming more sporadic. She choked back a sob. Por Dios, it was already over. The Alamo had fallen.
The sound of gunfire echoed all around Olivia and her palms began to sweat. She shouldn’t be here. She had been out of her mind to grab her father’s old rifle and head out to join the fighting.
How many times had she told Angie to stay safe and keep away from the battle? Olivia hadn’t listened to her own advice, and now she was surrounded by men shouting and screaming, guns firing in every direction, and death all around. The gun smoke burned her eyes and throat, and she flinched as another cannon exploded nearby.
She wanted to run away. She wanted to flee the terror and carnage, wanted to get far away from the horror of war and believe there would be peace and happiness once more. But she had made her choice, and she would have to face the consequences. She had come here to fight, and she would do everything she could to help these brave Texians.
A soldier stood up over the rise, aiming at her. Her arms rose slowly, as though moving through thick mud, lifting her gun, and cocking it in one motion. It seemed so easy to pull the trigger, the kick in her shoulder an aching testimony that she had just taken someone’s life by moving her finger. The soldier pitched forward, his face a grotesque picture of blood and bones where a youthful expression of fear had been just moments before.
Her fingers trembled as she tried to reload. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think the boy had been just as terrified as she. She didn’t want to think about the boy’s mother, finding out that her son had died in battle. But she did think of those things, and they whirled through her mind, churning and spinning with her own fear, making her ill.
Time seemed to stand still as the battle raged on around her. Suddenly she was running, trying to escape the cannon ball that was headed towards the small dugout she had been hiding in.
The explosion shook everything and, for a moment, she was flying, the sounds of the battle dying away below her. Her moment of flight ended quickly, though, and she crashed to the ground in a bone-jarring heap, cringing as debris rained down upon her.
The sound of the battle had stopped, though. There was nothing but utter and complete silence. Her head ached, a pounding throb that made her focus on keeping her eyes open against the pain.
She pushed herself to her hands and knees, then fell back on her stomach, looking around in confusion. The Texians were running forward, pushing past her, their mouths open in silent yells. She shook her head, hoping to clear the fog, but it only increased the pain. Several men around her fired their weapons, the smoke mingling with the already cloudy night air. The sound of the gun fire seemed far away, barely distinguishable.
Frustrated, she rolled over, and terror seized her. A Mexican soldier raced towards her, his bayonet raised, his face twisted in anger and fear. He was going to kill her. The thought should have chilled her. But suddenly she felt incredibly calm, her fingers finding the gun at her side easily, wrapping around the trigger smoothly as though the gun was made to be held by her hands.
An insane desire to fight and live captured her. She wanted to destroy the anger and hatred she saw in his eyes. She wanted to defeat him, and then defeat every other Mexican soldier that was trying to steal her freedom from her. A sound finally reached her ears, a dull thud, and she realized it was her own heartbeat. Her arms lifted as though she had no control, her aim centering on the soldier’s heart. And then she heard the click of the gun.
Sound seemed to explode around her—the cry of the man as the bullet ripped through his flesh, the screams of others on the streets as they, too, met an unpleasant end. As the man pitched towards her, she could see his face, all covered in soot, and she wanted to scream in her own agony.
He was just a child, no more than fourteen. He hadn’t even had the chance to be a man. He fell on her, his body limp, his eyes glazing as his life slowly faded. She fell under his weight, horror gripping her.
The boy’s haunted eyes lifted to hers as his blood covered her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why?”
And his body went still, his eyes empty. “No!” she cried, finally finding her voice. “I didn’t know.” She sobbed. “I didn’t...”
A hand slapped down over her mouth, cutting off her cry. Olivia’s eyes flew open and she realized she had been consumed by the nightmare again, a nightmare that plagued her every time she slept.
Her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light in the room and she realized someone actually held their hand over her mouth. “Don’t panic. It’s just me.”
Olivia forced her sister’s hand away. “I never panic,” she snapped. “But something must be wrong with you to sneak around the house lik
e this.” She ran her hand lightly over her left ear, cringing at the ache, and made sure her hair concealed the wound she never wanted her family to see.
Angie sighed heavily and folded her arms over her chest. “I couldn’t sleep. Besides, you were having a nightmare.”
Olivia felt a wave of remorse slip through her and sat up, making room for Angie to join her on the small bed. “It can’t go on much longer. The fires are bound to go out soon.” But, even as she said that, Olivia looked towards her bedroom window where the orange glow still burned in the distance. It had been going nonstop for three days. She, too, wondered if it would ever stop.
Angie was shaking her head. “The smell is so awful; I gag every time I step outside.”
Olivia knew how Angie felt. She had never imagined what the smell of hundreds of burning bodies would be like. Now she wished she didn’t know.
“I know he’s okay.” The quiver in Angie’s voice drew Olivia’s attention back to her sister.
“Angie...” She began hesitantly.
“Don’t say it, Vi. Don’t. I know no one lived. But what if...I mean it’s very likely he got out before the fighting began.”
“Lorenzo would never desert and you know it.”
Angie twisted the thin gold band on her finger. “I’m not saying that. He would never abandon them. But what if Bowie...”
“Angie, you will play this what-if game in your head until it drives you crazy. There’s nothing we can do except pray.”
Angie looked at her, dangerously close to tears. “We didn’t see his body.”
Olivia pressed her lips together firmly, not wanting to tell Angie how foolish her hopes were. Santa Ana had made certain none of the Alamo defenders lived to tell their story, and disgraced them even in death by not allowing them a proper burial. The bodies had all been piled together in two great fires that still burned.
Though they had joined the few other townsfolk in moving the bodies from the Alamo, they had not discovered Lorenzo among the gruesome corpses, giving Angie a glimmer of hope.
Angie continued, her voice firmer. “He cheated death before. I know he can do it again. He’s so strong, and he—” She drew in a deep breath, halting her speech before she collapsed into tears. “What about the man downstairs? What do you think his story is?”
Olivia rubbed at her eyes as she slid out of bed, wishing for a moment she could take her mind off of the man who had entered their lives. He preoccupied her thoughts day and night, though.
He had been asleep for two days. She almost envied him. He had missed the fall of the Alamo, had missed the deep sadness that clung to the air, had missed the horrible way Santa Anna had burned the bodies of the brave Texians.
Though he hadn’t moved or made a sound, his fever had risen, and she feared her promise of recovery would be one she couldn’t keep. Finally, though, in the middle of the night, while she dozed off in a chair next to the cot, his fever had broken. Her promise would be kept. She had gone to her room to get a few moments of rest and realized she had only slept for an hour before Angie had interrupted her hellish nightmare.
“I don’t know his story and I’m not going to ask for it. He said he came to help at the Alamo. For some reason, God decided it wasn’t his time to die.” It made her skin chill to realize that whatever mistake Cade had made that landed him in her home had actually saved his life.
Angie was snuggling down into Olivia’s bed, her face marked by dried tears, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. “How much longer will he be here? Grandma and Grandpa are going to start wondering why you disappear to the cellar so often.”
Olivia pulled on her skirt and buttoned up her shirtwaist. “He’s badly injured, Angie. His leg...it’s a miracle he even made it to our home. I don’t know how he walked with it torn up so.” Angie nodded, but she was already falling asleep.
Aching for her sister’s loss, Olivia leaned over and brushed a kiss over her forehead then slipped out of the room, heading back to the man that dominated her thoughts.
Staring at his sleeping face, Olivia nervously fingered the high collar of her shirt. Sitting on the edge of the cot, she had to shake her head at herself. While daylight grew outside, he still slumbered. She had no idea what she would do with him once he awoke.
Carefully, she peeled back the linen she had wrapped around his leg, exposing the wound that had caused him so much pain, and probably would for the rest of his life. Lightly she ran her fingers around the edge of the cut, noticing that her stitching held the wound together tightly, and thankfully the heat of fever and infection were gone. There would be a scar, though it was too soon to know just how severe it would be.
Her fingers smoothed the coarse blonde hair that covered his leg as she watched his face. She didn’t know if she wanted him to wake up or stay asleep. She had long ago become used to his nudity, though she had done her best to cover him with sheets. His wounds had been too many, though, and his chest and legs still lay bare to her. She had never seen a man nude before, and found she couldn’t stop looking at him. She felt as though she knew his body better than she knew her own.
The sound of boots overhead forced her eyes to the rafters. Their customers had been returning slowly. Most were Mexican soldiers and, though it pained her greatly, they would provide money the cocina desperately needed. It was past noon, and Angie was making sure the last few diners were pleased with their meals before they closed for the day.
Frowning, Olivia looked back at Cade. She had spent far too much time with him, and it was taxing Angie and her grandmother. Though she still helped with the breakfast and lunch preparations, she vanished downstairs after most of the soldiers had left to tend to the stranger that had disrupted her life.
Sighing, she rolled her neck on her shoulders, hoping to find the strength to return upstairs and help with the chores. Her mystery man didn’t need her now, and she needed to see to her responsibilities.
Her sigh turned into a startled gasp as her body was yanked forward, her arms pulled behind her. Unable to stop her fall, she collapsed on top of Cade, her nose touching his. Her startled eyes met his cold blue ones.
“Where is my gun?” His voice was raspy, but his intent was clear.
A shiver of fear went through her and she tugged at her wrists. “Why? Planning on killing someone?”
His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened. “Where?”
For a moment, it crossed her mind that she could dig her knee into his wound and would instantly be free. But she immediately dismissed it. For some reason, the thought of causing him pain wasn’t something she wanted, no matter what the price.
“If you let me go and stop acting like a child, I’ll bring it to you.”
His eyes searched her face and his grip loosened. “Don’t I know you?”
Olivia swallowed hard. Had she healed his body just for him to lose his mind?
“Don’t you remember the other night—” She froze when his other hand reached up quickly and caught her hair.
With a few small tugs, her bun came loose, and her hair fell down over them.
Recognition crossed his face. “Olivia.” He spoke so softly she almost didn’t hear him.
But she did, and the heat of a blush crept up her neck. “Yes, well, I’m glad you’ve regained your memory. Though for your sake, I hope you’ve forgotten what was done to you.”
He was watching her, an odd expression on his face, and she realized she was still sprawled across him. She once again tried to tug unsuccessfully on her wrists. His hand slid through her hair, down her arms, and to her waist, and though his grip on her wrists was finally loose enough to pull away, she felt completely trapped.
He held her waist, his hand spanning so his thumb touched her ribs and his small finger brushed her hip. “You were here... all that time...Why?”
Olivia swallowed hard and hoped her tremors would stop soon as she tried to draw in a deep breath. She wondered if her face looked like a beet.
“I-I
suppose... It appears...” She pressed her lips together for a moment then tried again. “Have you forgotten about your gun, then?”
He shook his head slightly, and his breath blew over her lips. He surely could feel her heart pounding against his chest. “Do I need it? Should I be afraid of you? Now that you’ve healed me, are you planning on fighting me to the death?”
There was humor in his voice but it didn’t show on his face. The man could be carved from stone. She latched on to the only logical thought she could find. “You are hardly healed. It will be weeks before you can try to walk—and it will be terribly painful even then.”
The statement seemed to shift his focus and, for the briefest moment, Olivia was disappointed. Using his hand on her hip, he shifted her to the side so he could see down the length of his body and view the damage. Before she could say anything, he sat up and began to swing his legs off the cot.
“Stop!” She grabbed a hold of his shoulders, fully expecting to have to forcefully push him back onto the cot. She had overestimated his strength. The small movement of just sitting up had obviously exhausted him, and he fell back against her, and she found herself pinned against the wall, his massive back against her chest.
The warmth of his skin pressed against her made her suddenly breathless. With shaky hands, she tried to push her hair out her face, trying to tell herself she was annoyed he had taken it down.
“Well, I hope you’re happy now.”
His back moved against her as he tried to once again stand and embarrassment flamed her cheeks as she felt her nipples harden against him. “I’ll be much happier when I’ve got my gun.” He grunted, moving forward slightly, then with a moan fell back on the cot. He ran a hand down his face then turned a hard glare on her. “How long have I been asleep?”
Olivia was trying to pull her skirts out from under him and realized the sheet was also underneath him. He was completely nude. She closed her eyes and counted slowly to three, then tugged on her skirts, hard. She found herself in the same position as a few moments ago, sprawled across his chest.
Texas Desire Page 3