The man’s head lulled to one side, showing a short white scar on his jaw. Rebekah saw his eyes flicker. He was alive.
As the people slowly moved away from the wagon, Rebekah hesitated, wanting to see if she could sneak something off the wagon that could help with her escape. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Edgardo watching her.
She headed for the arbor, noticing Gabino Fuentes shuffling forward in front of her. He glanced over his shoulder and met Rebekah’s eyes. His grave eyes conveyed a message she understood. What was coming would not be good.
The people crowded in the arbor, finding seats on the rows of benches. Rebekah had taken note of this arbor because of its proximity to the road. She had wondered if she could hide supplies among the benches so they were ready for her escape. It was open on all four sides with a thatched roof. A table sat at one end of it, facing the rows of backless wood benches. She thought it was for religious services, but she hadn’t seen it used. Until now.
Rebekah slipped onto a bare spot on a bench at the very end of the arbor, next to Carmelita and Antonia. Their father, Martín, sat stone faced on the other side of the girls. His arm was still in a sling, his hand in a clean bandage.
Rebekah wished she’d been called on to take over treatment for his wound, something to show she was indeed a medical doctor and worth keeping alive.
Abuelita Guerra moved around behind a table at the head of the arbor. She pressed her fingertips on it as she faced her subjects and nodded at one of the men.
He went to a nearby well and retrieved a bucketful of water. He dumped the water on the man’s face as he lay in the dirt. The man came alive, spitting water and sucking in a deep breath. The two men pulled him to his feet, holding him upright.
From behind, Rebekah could see how limp he was. How helpless. Maybe she could get her medical bag and treat him after the Guerras were finished with him. If he was still alive.
How could she save him? Who was he? A potential ally for her or a rogue trader who accidentally found himself on Sancho Guerra’s bad side?
Abuelita Guerra took a seat behind the table, still in Rebekah’s view where she sat to the back and left of the arbor. The shade didn’t fully cover her, bringing to mind the terrible ride through the desert. She was sweating and the sun burned one side of her face as she waited to discover the man’s fate; and if it was tied to her own.
Abuelita Guerra addressed Edgardo. “Who is this man?”
Edgardo, who stood beside his father by their grandmother, took a step forward and spoke for all to hear. “He claims he will sell us supplies and weapons, that he knows one of our men here. He was captured by the first line of guards.”
Abuelita Guerra’s gaze swept the faces of the crowd. “Does anyone know this man?”
A man to Rebekah’s far right stood, holding his sombrero by the rim, sweat dripping down his forehead. “I know him, Señora Guerra. He is from Golden, and claimed knowledge of Los Abrigos and wanted to be a supplier. I told him I would consider presenting his offer to Señor Guerra, but not to come to the valley until he was given permission.”
Another man stood. “Señora Guerra, the Mexican army wants very much to invade our valley. This man is likely a spy sent to see our weaknesses.”
Edgardo took another step forward, clenching his holstered double pistols. “We have no weaknesses.”
There was complete silence under the arbor. Everyone knew the truth yet no one dared speak it.
Señora Guerra slowly rose from her seat. She stood there and made eye contact with every person under the arbor. When she came to Rebekah, Rebekah did her best to maintain a solid gaze in return. The woman lingered on her longer than the others and Rebekah felt something within her crack.
Abuelita Guerra looked back to the trader who was draped limp between the two men. It seemed everyone was on the edge of their bench, awaiting the verdict.
Abuelita Guerra, her movements effortless despite her age, took a step to the side and turned toward Edgardo.
“Give me a pistol.”
He stared down at her, a good foot and a half taller than the petite old woman. He hesitated, uncertain, and she snapped her fingers in his face. He quickly withdrew his left pistol and handed it to her, butt first.
Abuelita Guerra took it and came around to the front of the table. She waved at the two men and they dropped the trader to his knees and stepped back. Several people scrambled from the center aisle, out of the line of fire.
Rebekah wanted to jump up and scream.
The man looked up at Abuelita Guerra, meeting her steady gaze. She cocked the pistol, took aim, and fired.
People gasped as the man’s body jerked to the side. Rebekah could see the bullet had hit him in the left forearm. She covered her mouth with both hands. Did Abuelita Guerra intend to shoot him one limb at a time?
The man managed to stay upright on his knees, his arm dangling, blood streaming down it and to the ground.
Abuelita Guerra lowered the smoking pistol and raised her gaze to look directly at Rebekah.
“Doc Beck, as you are called across the border, it is time to exhibit your medical skills. Treat this man.”
Rebekah pressed her hands tighter against the scream in her throat. She desperately wanted out of this place, away from these people and their ways.
God, please help me.
Abuelita Guerra went back around the table, handing Edgardo’s gun back to him and saying something. He turned with a frown and left the arbor.
Abuelita Guerra took her seat again and glanced over at where Rebekah hadn’t moved. The woman looked up at Sancho.
Sancho, with his calm, killer smile, came toward Rebekah. She didn’t flinch when he stopped at her side and offered his hand.
“Señorita Rebekah, my grandmother has given you an order. You will obey.”
The wounded trader glanced back at the corner, meeting Rebekah’s gaze. He was a middle-aged Mexican man with years of experience in his eyes. She felt a sense of decency and honesty about him.
Rebekah suspected the village accuser was right. This man was a spy for the Mexican army. If she could find a way to save him, they could work together on an escape.
Rebekah rose slowly from the bench, letting her hands slide away from her mouth. Her father taught her there were moments to wisely give in and there were moments to stand in true courage. Rebekah knew this moment was both.
She sidestepped Sancho and skirted the cluster of benches to reach the aisle that ran in front of the judgement table. She was aware of everyone in the village watching her.
Edgardo returned, carrying her medical bag. He shoved it into her arms with a look of anger hotter than the noonday sun.
But Rebekah cradled the bag, feeling as though she’d been reunited with a long-lost friend.
She glanced around and spotted the two men who dragged the trader to the arbor. “Please take him to Señor Gabino Fuentes’ home. I will treat him there.”
Behind her, Abuelita Guerra’s steely voice cut through her. “You will treat him here where we can observe.”
Rebekah glanced at her sharply, her nature as a physician bolstering her courage. “I cannot treat a patient in the middle of a dirt floor.”
Abuelita Guerra lifted her chin and Rebekah knew she would not accept being challenged. Rebekah wondered if this was the place where she would be executed.
A high-pitched voice came from the back of the arbor. “Señorita Rebekah, you can do it.” It was Antonia. “We will help.”
Rebekah glanced back to see the younger Fuentes sister on her feet and tugging on her sister’s arm. Carmelita was pale, the whites of her eyes showing as Antonia pulled her to her feet.
Rebekah could scarcely believe Antonia’s bravery, willing to step in even after the news Rebekah shared about the law and the sisters’ uncle Pinto.
The girls came arm in arm to stand behind the kneeling trader. Antonia looked at Rebekah, her eyes pleading with Rebekah not to get herself kill
ed.
Antonia’s courage both inspired and frightened Rebekah. If she failed, the sisters would suffer too.
Rebekah swallowed and motioned to the empty bench in front of Abuelita Guerra’s table. “Let’s get him laying down here, out of the dust.”
One hand clutching the handle of her medical bag, Rebekah helped the trader on one side while the sisters lifted him. Together, they were able to get him stretched out on the narrow bench.
Antonia knelt under his wounded arm and held it up with her hands. Rebekah took a deep breath and joined her on the ground, opening her bag. She ran her fingers over the instruments at the top, the coolness of them calming her. She would start with the bullet wound and then treat his injuries from being dragged behind the wagon.
This was work she’d trained to do. She could do it even at Los Abrigos.
Rebekah spoke to Carmelita. “Agua.”
Carmelita rose and went to fetch the bucket from the well. Rebekah’s eyes followed her long enough to catch the look exchanged between her and Edgardo. It was a tragic sight. Edgardo was on the verge of becoming irredeemable.
As Rebekah tore away the bloody sleeve, the trader rolled his head toward Antonia and asked in English, “What is your name, child?”
Antonia looked at Rebekah, startled. Why had the man spoken English, a language Antonia had never heard?
Rebekah grew up in a home of three languages. But this was a blessed relief to hear.
Rebekah started to translate for Antonia, but the man spoke again, this time to Rebekah. His words were so low, she could barely understand them.
“Doctor, we are here to get you out. Be ready.”
Rebekah froze, staring into his soft brown eyes that begged her to trust him. She did. She had to. But who sent him? What did he mean by “we”? Was the Mexican army about to attack?
Carmelita came back with a bucket and set it next to Rebekah. She went to work, ignoring how she and her patient—her would-be rescuer—were on display before the whole village, under the scrutiny of Abuelita Guerra.
Rebekah labored over the trader, suturing his arm wound and treating the tears in his flesh from being dragged. She discovered two broken ribs and wrapped his midsection tightly in a bandage.
When Rebekah wiped the sweat from her forehead, she used the opportunity to look around her. The villagers watched from the benches or stood at the edge of the arbor, solemn. She kept her back to Abuelita Guerra and the judgment table. She already knew what that woman and her family’s intentions were. Any hope Rebekah and the trader had of escaping would come from the people.
Rebekah finished her work with wiping the trader’s bruised face with a damp cloth.
He smiled up at her, weak, and said, “Gracias.”
“De nada.”
Rebekah cleaned her instruments and replaced them in her bag while the sisters stayed on each side of the man, partially supporting him on the narrow bench.
Rebekah flicked her gaze up to Abuelita Guerra, wondering if she was going to come close and inspect Rebekah’s work. The woman stood from the table and nodded at Rebekah as though they were in a classroom of medical students.
“Doctor Rebekah, you know your work well.” Abuelita Guerra announced it like she was giving a commencement speech. “You will be a valuable asset to our community.”
Rebekah reached for her bag as she stood, holding it close to her side, hiding it with her skirt. She hoped to keep it close from now on. The weight told her it no longer held her pepperbox pistol, but there were other useful items in it for her escape.
Rebekah motioned to the trader. “I would like to have him moved to the Fuentes’ quarters where I can monitor his condition. He is severely injured.”
Abuelita Guerra pressed her fingertips against the table again. “That will not be necessary. Edgardo, kill him.”
Rebekah lost her breath and the medical bag landed in the dirt beside her with a thump. The Fuentes sisters gasped, and Antonia began to cry.
Edgardo glanced at his grandmother and his father. The hesitation was there, but gone in a flash. He wouldn’t disappoint them. He moved from behind the judgement table, drawing one of his pistols.
Rebekah couldn’t think, only do. She stepped in front of Edgardo, her arms spread wide to shield the sisters and the trader.
Edgardo cocked the pistol.
Rebekah wasn’t aware of Sancho’s presence until he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her away. She gasped and swung around to kick him, but he held her tight.
The report of a gunshot and screams echoed behind her.
Chapter 13
The night air cooled Rebekah’s cheeks as she stepped out onto the Grande Colina terrace from the hacienda. She moved toward the stone ramp that led from the terrace to the yard below.
She touched the cool stone railing of the terrace, her heart desperate for something that would not harm her or her heart. Sitting through a late-evening dinner with all three Guerras was almost more than she could bear.
After Edgardo shot the trader point blank, Rebekah vaguely recalled old Gabino Fuentes’ sad eyes. Those eyes haunted her now as she looked out beyond the adobe homes and the valley itself to the road.
She contemplated walking down the stone terrace ramp, down the hill, through the adobe casitas and corrals, and straight up that road to freedom.
Was living really better than dying in this place?
A man gave his life trying to free Rebekah. She didn’t deserve that. She could only accept his gift and try to make it out alive if the Mexican army did attack.
Footsteps on the stone floor of the terrace jolted Rebekah and she glanced back to see Edgardo exiting the front double doors. He barely looked her way as he went down the steps on the other side. He was headed toward the servants’ quarters. Specifically, toward the Fuentes sisters’.
Rebekah wanted to run after him, tackle him, stop him from doing any more harm. But she was helpless as a lamb lost in the mountains, far from the protection of a shepherd. She had been that way a long time, but it never felt like this.
She moved to the darkest corner of the terrace, away from light streaming through the front windows.
The stars were a perfect dome above her, shining of magnificence she couldn’t comprehend. She whispered a prayer in her Omaha tongue, the words belonging to her father.
Lord, let me do what is right and fight what is wrong. My soul is in Your care. Amen.
It was the fullest prayer Rebekah had prayed in years. Perhaps the Shepherd would come to her. Her father believed that.
Rebekah’s eyes roamed to the road again, visible by the torches that lit it. How could she possibly escape up it?
Something below the road caught her eye, a long shadow near the horse corral. As she studied the shadow, the form of a man developed then darted behind the casita of the family Rebekah had seen on her first day of wandering the village.
There, the man appeared again, easing around the corner of the home. The children’s puppy bounded out of a box in the yard and the man squatted to scratch the puppy behind the ears. The animal didn’t make a sound, like this was someone it knew. Or at least, now trusted.
As the man rose, his shoulders dipped left and then right.
There was something incredibly familiar about the movement. Rebekah crossed her arms and hugged herself tight, willing her eyes to clear and identify or disregard the shadowy figure. Before she could do either, the man disappeared in the mesquite trees and brush leading up to the Grande Colina Hacienda.
Rebekah stared at the brush for several seconds, willing the man to reappear. He didn’t.
She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. She was so desperate for hope, but there was no one in this valley except whomever Abuelita Guerra allowed. And that was no one who wanted to help Rebekah.
Rebekah opened her eyes and saw one of the yucca scrubs near the terrace wall shaking as though someone just disturbed it. A white flower flew through the air from behind he
r and landed at her feet.
A voice spoke, close and deep. “Becka.”
She jerked her rigid body to face right, staring at the manicured trees that stood sentry close to the wall of the hacienda. She stared at the trees until a man materialized out of them.
He was tall, with a battered sombrero pulled low to hide his face. But she didn’t need to see his features to recognize the voice that sounded like a deep well. A serape covered his shoulders, but they were as broad and strong under the blanket as they had been under the gold officer bars of a U.S. Cavalry uniform so many years ago.
Here stood Rebekah’s reason for not wanting to return to Wyoming. Yet she was indescribably relieved.
By some miracle, he was actually there. How could that be?
The man put his hands on the rail and vaulted the low stone wall to stand within a few feet of her.
Rebekah breathed, “Lee. Lee Stafford, what in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
He swiped off the sombrero, revealing his dark brown hair, unkempt to match his disguise. His light smile pierced her soul.
“Just rounding up a lost steer, ma’am.”
Rebekah swallowed, hard. The timbre of his voice took her back, not to McKinnon Ranch, but to the days of her youth on the Omaha Reservation. His voice hadn’t been as deep then, nor had dignified white flecks in his hair touched his ears. But there was a sense of belonging in that voice. She belonged with it, back in Wyoming, the place she had resisted for too long.
Lee Stafford—or Laramie Jones as he was known to the rest of the world—broke into her memories to create a new one.
“I’m here to take you home, Becka.”
Home. Was there really a chance of getting back there?
She looked up at him, seeing his face pinched.
“The trader’s dead, isn’t he?” he asked. “Fernando Contrera?”
Rebekah wanted to weep at the look of grief in his eyes. She could only nod.
Laramie did, too, and glanced at the light coming from the Grande Colina Hacienda. He spoke to her while keeping watch. “Contrera was with the Rurales. He got me in here with a false bottom in his wagon. Planned to leave the same way, but we’ll have to scale the valley wall like billy goats. You’ll need to get some trousers and—”
Desert Captive (Doc Beck Westerns Book 4) Page 6