She started back for the house.
“Lynda?”
She gasped, turning to see a man come from the corner of the shed.
“Jess?”
He came closer. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
She swallowed. “Where did you come from? Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Couldn’t. Too many things on my mind. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I … I came to wish you luck … whatever happens tomorrow.”
“In the middle of the night? In your robe?”
She looked down at herself, glad it was dark so he couldn’t see her blushing.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” she replied.
He came closer and she couldn’t make her legs move. “Thanks for coming to tell me.” They just looked at each other, able to see well now by the light of the moon. Even though it was October, it was quite warm, yet a distinct shiver of desire moved through Lynda Sax Whitestone. “I’ll worry about you,” he told her.
“We will be all right. You’ll be the ones in danger.”
“God only knows where Santa Anna will strike, what his soldiers will do to women.”
“They’re supposed to be gentlemen in that respect.”
“Men at war are never gentlemen. They can turn into savages.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“How well I know that.”
She blinked back tears. “Jess, I—”
He waited, sure she had something important to say, afraid anything he said now might spoil it all.
“I love you, Jess.”
There was a long moment of silence. He finally reached out hesitantly, reaching around her waist and pulling her close. She did not resist. She turned her face up to his and he met her mouth, her very willing, sensuous mouth. Fire ripped through his blood, and almost immediately she felt his hardness against her belly as his lips and tongue searched her mouth hungrily.
She had been too long without a man. Old, buried needs surged forward so that when his hands moved down to grasp at her hips she did not resist. She gripped him around the neck and let him push with his hand so that she came up and wrapped her legs around his waist, their mouths still tasting, searching. He turned and carried her inside that way, kicking shut the door behind him. Lynda Whitestone was finally ready for a man again.
He lowered her to the bed, then moved on top of her. She hadn’t even realized in the darkness that all he wore was his long underwear. They came off easily enough, while she sat up slightly, kissing wildly at his broad, muscular chest and arms. Somehow he’d been sure that when she finally submitted she would express almost more passion than he could handle. He’d seen it smolder at times in her haunting blue eyes, felt it emanate from her dark, slender body. He’d known there was one hell of a woman buried under all that hurt just waiting to break out again.
Now she had, and he would be the recipient. How he loved her! It all seemed so natural, so necessary. No questions were asked. He groaned with the taste of her mouth as he pushed up her gown. She wore nothing under it.
He hadn’t even touched or tasted her breasts before he was moving inside of her with the eagerness of a younger man experiencing his first woman. She cried out with ecstasy, panting his name almost rhythmically as he buried himself inside of her, feeling half crazy with his need of her. He soon felt the pulsating contractions of her climax, exquisite muscle spasms that brought an ecstasy he had never experienced. She pulled him into herself with as much savageness as he was pushing.
He could control his pleasure no longer. His life poured into her in great, pulsating throbs that made him groan, then left him spent. He embraced her then, going limp on top of her.
“Lynda, God, Lynda,” he murmured. “God, I love you. I love you.”
She broke into tears. “Come back to me, Jess. You have to come back to me. I’m scared. I’m so … damned scared.” She broke into heavy sobbing. He knew how hard this was for her, how terrified she was of losing again.
“I’ll come back. You can damned well bet I’ll come back,” he told her.
He moved off her, pulling her gown the rest of the way up and over her head. Moonlight shafted through the window, and her brown breasts glowed softly in it. He bent down and kissed her throat, moving to her breasts, bringing more gasps of ecstasy from her lips as he gently sucked at the full nipples he had only dreamed about for months. Did a man ever stop needing this? It was as though he could draw strength and nourishment from these tender fruits, like a babe sucking its milk.
She kept whispering his name, squirming for more. He would give her more. He might be damned tired for a ride into San Felipe in the morning, but it would be worth it. And as soon as the war was over, he would come home and marry Lynda Sax Whitestone. She would be Lynda Purnell, and she would never be lonely again.
In December Texas militia, including Tom Sax, drove into San Antonio, startling the organized Mexican soldiers with their fierce, disorganized but determined effort to take the city in spite of the difference in numbers. The Mexicans, led by General Martín Perfecto de Cós, brother-in-law to Santa Anna, were in complete confusion as to how to fight these fierce Texans. They moved behind the protective walls of the Alamo mission, but Texans battered it with cannon until Cós could take no more. One hundred seventy-nine Mexican soldiers and six officers had already deserted. Many had been killed. Cós sent up a white flag, and the Texans marched into San Antonio. By then their leader was an old Indian fighter named Edward Burleson. Stephen Austin had gone to the United States to appeal for war funds and more volunteers.
Burleson’s raw fighting skills had rallied the Texans, but he made one poor decision that was to affect Texas history forever, leading to one of its saddest events. He let Cós and some eleven hundred Mexican prisoners go free, with a promise from Cós that Mexican soldiers would never again fight Texans or deny them a right to their own constitution; in return for which the Texans agreed to remain a part of Mexico.
Burleson and his volunteers considered this courtesy a strong message to Santa Anna that they weren’t after total independence. They never had been. They wanted only to be allowed to rule themselves, have their own courts, their own religion. Was it so much to ask? Surely, after this act of great humanitarianism, Santa Anna would back off and give them the same courtesy in return by leaving them alone now.
But Sam Houston saw it differently. He trained his volunteers at Washington-on-the-Brazos. Caleb and Jess were among those volunteers, both men eager to fight and tired of waiting to see what would happen after the Mexican defeat at San Antonio. Most thought that would be the end of it. Only Sam Houston was sure it was only the beginning. He sent out a letter to remaining Texans, urging all to rally to the standard in defense of Texas and not be fooled by the “temporary” victory at the Alamo.
Caleb struggled with worry over Sarah and his family, and Tom, who had been among those at San Antonio and who was now entrenched in the Alamo mission. Names of those killed had been posted. Tom was not among them. At least he knew Tom was all right.
San Antonio had been taken and he tried to tell himself there was nothing to worry about now. Every morning and night he prayed for his son, not just because of the danger he might be in, but because of the terrible burden Bess’s death put on his heart. The boy had been long in recovering from her death.
He looked over at Jess, who sat leaning against a nearby tree smoking, his eyes closed. He’d noticed how Lynda looked at the man before they left, how suddenly they had embraced and kissed. It was certainly far more than the embrace of friends, and too lingering and intimate for a first kiss. He’d been fully aware of Jess’s feelings for his daughter, but also aware of how Lynda had made it a point to stay away from him, to remain aloof, determined to ignore him. Caleb had said nothing about it all this time they had been here training, and Jess didn’t bring it up, although for the first couple of days after leaving home, he had acted nervous about something, a
s though he had almost a guilty conscience.
Jess opened one eye to catch Caleb’s intent look. His eyebrow arched and he came fully awake. “Something tells me I’m being judged and hung without even knowing it,” he said to Caleb with a grin.
Caleb took a pipe from his pocket and began stuffing it, looking around to be sure no one else was close by. “You want to tell me about it?”
“About what?”
“About why my daughter suddenly kissed you like a long-lost lover the morning we left.”
Jess colored slightly but held his eyes. “Sure. Why not? I intend to marry her soon as we get back. With your permission, Mr. Sax?”
Caleb finished stuffing the pipe, grinning a little. “You know you’d have my permission.”
Jess leaned back again. “Yeah, well …”
Caleb knew what he was hinting at. He put the pipe to his lips and lit it, puffing it for a moment. “Her idea, or yours?”
“Both. Lynda came to me the night before we left to tell me she loved me. One thing just sort of led to another. She’s a hell of a woman and I respect her, Caleb. I didn’t want it to happen that way. It just did. I don’t regret it and I don’t think she does either.”
Caleb puffed the pipe another few seconds. “Lynda’s a full-grown woman and a mother. I have no say in what she does in the way of men. Lord knows I never did, anyway. She never knew me as a father until she was seventeen years old. That’s a little late to be starting to tell a daughter what she should do with her life, not that I’d object to her marrying you,” Caleb smiled. “You’re a good man, Jess. You’d just by God better take damned good care of her and never hurt her.”
Jess grinned. “No problem there.”
“She has been hurt enough. Did she tell you about the gambler she lived with?”
Jess nodded. “I know all about it. I also know she was a damned scared child then, with no one to turn to. I don’t care about that.”
Caleb nodded. “Lynda is a fine woman. You’re a lucky man.”
Jess lit a cigar, feeling the pain of wanting her again. “I’m well aware of that,” he answered. Their eyes held. “Thanks for understanding, Caleb. I wasn’t sure you would.”
Caleb thought about Sarah, her savage eagerness that last night. “A man going off to war does something to a woman,” Caleb answered. “To the man, too, I guess.” He shook his head. “Probably the best lovemaking there is.”
Jess grinned. “I don’t doubt that.”
God, how he wanted to be back home, in bed with Lynda. What a wild, beautiful, satisfying woman she was. There wasn’t a woman alive who could make him feel like Lynda Whitestone made him feel, and Lynda was good and loyal and wonderful. What man could ask for more? It hurt to think about her. He ached for her, so much so that he considered deserting more than once just to go back and sleep with her again. But his manly pride kept him from doing it. Jess was not a deserter when he knew the cause was right. Hafer had been different. His cause was wrong. But to fight for Texas was to fight for Lynda Whitestone and Sax land, and he felt very much like a Sax now. He respected and admired Caleb.
“You think they’re all right?” he asked Caleb then.
Caleb felt the old anxiety, but he had to think positively.
“They’re at the Handels’ and close to San Felipe. They will be all right.”
Jess sighed. “I just worry about Santa Anna’s soldiers, if they do retaliate. A lot of them are pretty worthless, not much better than bandits.”
Caleb struggled against his own worry over possible attacks on San Felipe and surrounding settlements. “Handel will keep them safe. He’ll take them on into town if necessary. We have to hope for the best. Santa Anna is still south of the border.”
Jess stood up and stretched. “I just wish we’d get moving. This waiting is driving me crazy.”
“I know. I hear we might go to Goliad.” Caleb shivered. It was early February. Austin was currently in New Orleans negotiating loans and enlisting more American support. Pamphlets had been handed out to Southerners, calling Texas the “Garden of America” and urging volunteers to come help fight, in return for which they would receive free passage and eight hundred acres of land. More soldiers waited at Goliad, and it was rumored many had left the Alamo and returned home or joined troops elsewhere, sure the excitement at the Alamo was over now.
Caleb rose himself, staring to the south. Just how ferociously would Santa Anna retaliate for the humiliating defeat at San Antonio? And just how equipped were they to fight Santa Anna’s full force? Texas was not organized. There were arguments over leadership, and although he considered Sam Houston one of the best—a true man of Texas and a man who understood what must be done—the man seemed to be languishing. It was time for action. Caleb hoped they would go to Goliad as it was rumored. This waiting and wondering was too strenuous. Maybe they would even go to the Alamo to bolster the declining garrison there. That would be good. He could be with Tom.
Emily Cox walked with her husband toward the meeting place where more volunteers awaited instructions. San Felipe was in chaos, with everyone arguing over what should be done next. None of their leaders was there: Houston was on his way to Goliad, Travis was at the Alamo, Austin was in the States. Texans were divided on the question of independence, as many still believed they could patch things up with Mexico.
The current leader at the Alamo, Colonel James Neill, complained that too many men had left for Goliad, men who planned to take the Mexican city of Matamoros at the mouth of the Rio Grande, where many liberal Mexicans lived who did not like Santa Anna’s leadership. Sam Houston was totally against the idea, as was the new governor of the Province of Texas. But the general Council supported the plan and so they continued to argue in San Felipe, amid the influx of even more volunteers. Messages kept coming in from the Alamo, where men like Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett had gone with more volunteers. Those who had gone to Goliad from the Alamo had taken with them nearly all the medical supplies and more ammunition than the men there could spare should Santa Anna attack. But those who left argued that Santa Anna would not attack for weeks, and that the Texans’ best move was to attack Matamoros.
And so the arguments raged, while the volunteers at the Alamo languished, caught in the middle, waiting for more men to come and help defend the huge mission-turned-fort that covered nearly two acres.
Howard Cox felt he had put off joining long enough. He didn’t want to leave Emily, but neither did he want to be accused of not doing his part. Volunteers at the Alamo were dwindling to dangerous proportions and he was convinced, as were many others, that it would be the first target of Santa Anna. It was directly in Santa Anna’s route north to invade Texas.
“I’m going to San Antonio,” he told Emily as they walked to the meeting. “Those bucks that want to go to Matamoros are nuts. Stay in our own territory, that’s what I say. Otherwise we look like the invaders, thirsty for war. We don’t want war. We just want what’s right. The ones at the Alamo, they’re the ones who will need help. We’ll find out more at the meeting.”
“Oh, Howard, I’m afraid,” Emily said.
He patted her hand. “I won’t leave just yet, Emmy. But it will have to be soon. And don’t you worry about ole’ Howard. I’ve got my Emmy to come back to.”
Several men rode by as they started across the street. One of them halted his horse, staring at Emily, who glanced at him and then quickly looked away, covering her scarred face with a lace scarf.
“Emily,” the man shouted. “Hey, Emily!”
Howard stopped and looked at the man. “Don’t pay any attention, Howard,” Emily pleaded. “I never saw that man before in my life.”
Cox frowned, confused. Why had he called her by name? The man turned his horse and rode up to them. “Emily Stoner! Since when did you get so high and mighty, turning away from an old customer?”
Emily kept walking, but the man rode his horse in front of her. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Howard yanked her out of the way, clenching his fists. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, insulting my wife, mister! Get down off that horse!”
The man frowned, leaning forward in his saddle and then grinning. “Your wife! Emily Stoner?”
“Her name was Emily Stephens, mister. Now it’s Cox! You’ve got her mixed up with somebody else. Now leave her alone, or you’ll be tasting your teeth!”
“Howard, please,” Emily said in a shaking voice, keeping her head down.
The man on the horse started laughing. “Mister, somebody fooled you good. A man don’t screw a woman as often as I screwed that one and then mix her up with somebody else. You married one of the biggest whores in New Orleans. Lucky man, you are. You’ve got all that good stuff all to yourself now—maybe.” The man laughed again.
His horse reared and he laughed again as he rode off. Others stared, then moved on, while Howard just stood looking at Emily. She turned away from him, breaking into tears. Her grief was the proof of her guilt, and Howard stood in shock, feeling anger, disappointment, but most of all a great sorrow that moved through him with painful force.
“Emmy,” he choked out. “Is it true?”
She started to walk away, devastated that her worst fear had been realized. He hurried up and grabbed her, spinning her around. “I asked you a question, Emily Cox. Is it true what that man said?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She jerked away from him, suddenly hysterical. “I was afraid to tell you—afraid I’d lose you!” she screamed. “I love you, Howard. In you I saw a chance to live like a normal woman!”
The disappointment in his eyes tore at her heart. “Emmy,” he groaned.
“You don’t understand at all! I … I can explain, Howard. But I’ve never been untrue to you, and I never would be. You have to believe me, Howard. I love you. I love you!”
“Lies! All lies! You said you were a widow. You said—”
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