Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (53 page)

Lucinda, or Lucie, as most everyone called her, left her horse in the stable for one of the hands to tend. Usually she did this task herself, but she was anxious, for more reasons than one, to see her father. She wanted to get to him before their foreman did with the report of their adventures—or rather, misadventures—on the trail from Mexico.

She hurried around to the back of the house, slipping inside through the kitchen door. She always used this door but it was a mistake this time because she was immediately waylaid by Juana, their housekeeper, who would, however deservedly, require more than a cursory greeting.

“Oh, Señorita Lucie! You are home!” The woman quickly set down the basket she was carrying and threw thick, sturdy arms around the girl. Juana had been with the family for years and was practically a member. There was little, if any, servant-mistress formality between them.

Lucie kissed the woman on her plump cheek. “
Hola
, Juana.”

“Look at you! I think you have grown an inch in the month you have been gone. But you have lost weight.”

Lucie chuckled. To the housekeeper, anyone who weighed in at less than Juana’s solid one hundred seventy pounds was a skeleton. “I am sure you will take care of that.”

“Come, I have some nice sweet rolls warm by the stove.” Juana tugged at Lucie’s hand, urging her toward the table.

“I’m anxious to see Papa.”

Juana’s eyes, bright as lumps of onyx, clouded. “He is anxious to see you as well,
mi pequeña
.”

“How is he, Juana?”

“Some days are better than others. But now that you are home, I think there will be mostly better days, eh?”

It was hard to believe that the large brawny Scot was not a well man. Reid Maccallum had the biggest, most loving heart in the world—at least in Lucie’s world. But it was that very heart that appeared to be failing him now. It did not seem right that so soon after her mother’s death, Lucie should have to face the possibility of losing another parent. She tried hard not to think that it was a very great possibility.

“Maybe I should not have gone to Mexico,” she said with a sigh.

“Now you think that?” Juana said with a slight edge to her voice. She had been against the trip from the beginning. “Ah, Lucie . . .” The woman’s tone softened. “Think nothing of me. Your papa no doubt would be the first to insist you live your life to its fullest. He would not want you to sacrifice it nursing him.”

“It would be no sacrifice.”

Juana raised a hand and gently patted Lucie’s cheek. “Señor Maccallum has raised a precious child.”

“It is only that he gives me so much. It would be a small thing for me to give to him in return. As it is, all I can do for him is to pray.”

“That is a great deal,
pequeña
!”

“Of course it is—“ Lucie stopped, momentarily distracted by the sound of footsteps in the dog run that divided the house in half, next to which the kitchen was located.

“Mr. Maccallum” came Pete Barnes’ voice.

“I’m in the study,” responded Lucie’s father. “Come on back.”

Well, it looked as if Pete had made it to her father first, after all. She hoped the foreman would be sensible enough to give a watered-down version of the troubles on the drive. Perhaps he would leave out Lucie’s own close call during the Comanche attack altogether.

“I know one thing you can do for your papa,” Juana said, drawing Lucie’s attention back to the kitchen.

“What’s that?” Lucie asked eagerly.

“Find yourself a husband so that he knows you will be taken care of.”

Lucie could not hold back a responding groan. If dear Juana had one fault, it was this burning need to push Lucie into marriage.

“Oh, Juana . . .” Lucie glanced toward the door leading to the dog run as if contemplating escape.

“A girl your age should be married or at least betrothed.”

“It doesn’t seem to concern Papa,” Lucie answered, perhaps a bit defensively. She wondered, though, if this weighed upon him now that he was ill. “Juana, I want to do what is right. But . . .” When she tried to put into words what she felt, it all seemed so silly. Juana, practical woman that she was, would not understand how Lucie wanted to find a special man to marry, one whom she would love. She wanted what her parents had had. A bond of hearts and minds and souls. Perhaps it was expecting too much, especially in view of the fact that no man had yet come along who even came close to what she was looking for. Juana would say she was too choosy, that if she found a good, honest, decent man, she would come to love him in time, and that was enough to expect.

Lucie sighed.

Juana patted the girl’s shoulder. “Come,
pequeña,
sit, and I will fix tea to have with those rolls. You must be hungry after riding all day, and it is a while until supper.”

“Thank you, Juana, but I really want to see my father.” She forced a smile to her lips. The woman meant well. Then Lucie left the kitchen.

A nice breeze was blowing through the dog run, which was, after all, the purpose of the open-air area. It became a necessity during blistering hot Texas summers, such as the one that was now descending upon them. Lucie followed the corridor toward the back of the house where her father’s study was located. She wondered, as she often did, what the old house built by her great-great-grandfather had been like. She had only a vague memory of it, but Juana had told her it had been of a hacienda style such as could be found in Mexico, with arched porticos and tile floors. But a devastating hurricane had destroyed it when Lucie had been but five, and her father had rebuilt it in the style of the American settlers, two rooms divided by the dog run. However, in the case of the Maccallum home, there were several more than two rooms. They had been quite prosperous in those days.

When she reached the study, she heard the voices of her father and Pete. She hesitated before knocking. Maybe she should wait until Pete was done. But no, she missed her father and did not want to wait another minute. She raised her slim fist and tapped on the door.

“Who is it?” her father said.

“It’s me, Papa.”

“Lucie, sweetheart! Come on in.”

She opened the door and entered. Pete Barnes was seated before the large mahogany desk that had once belonged to Joaquin Vasquez. Behind the desk sat Reid Maccallum, his great hulk filling his chair, which was at the moment tipped back, precariously leaning against the wall. His laced fingers were propped behind his head, and he looked rather imposing, especially with his untamed red hair sticking up everywhere. But the grin on his face warmed Lucie’s heart down to its core.

Reid righted his chair and quickly jumped up, striding out from behind his desk and into his daughter’s outstretched arms. He wrapped his own thick logs around her in a breathtaking bear hug, lifting her several inches from the floor in the process.

“Papa!” she giggled. “Put me down. I’m not a little girl, you know!”

“And what else are you, then?”

“You’ll always be his little girl, Miss Lucie,” Pete said.

“Oh well, then why fight it?” Lucie kissed her father’s cheek. “It is so good to see you.”

Reid put her down, then held her at arm’s length. “You’ve grown and put a bit of meat on your bones.”

“Not according to Juana.”

“Ha! She won’t be satisfied until you are as fat as she, with three double chins besides.”

They both laughed until Reid paused, taking a sudden gasp for breath.

“Papa, what is it? Are you all right?” Lucie had seen this before in recent months since his heart trouble had begun.

“Oh yeah, fine,” he said with a deprecating wave of his hand. “Some times my breath just gets a little behind, that’s all. Now sit in that other chair. I’ll just be another minute here with Pete.”

“We can finish later, boss.” Pete rose. “Lucie deserves a chance with you before me.”

“Thanks, Pete. Come on back after supper.”

Lucie took Pete’s vacated chair. It was larger and more comfortable. “Papa, I am never going away for that long again,” she said after Pete left. “I feel like it’s been forever.”

“You were the one who insisted on going,” Reid said.

“Yes, I suppose I did have to twist that arm of yours, but you know Uncle Ramon preferred to turn the horses over to a member of the family. He didn’t know Pete or any of the men. Besides, I really did want to visit with my aunts and uncles and cousins. Goodness, there are a horde of them, too! At least a dozen more than when we last went there before the war.”

“Well, they are your family, and it is good to keep up the ties.” His step seemed a bit heavier as he returned to his own chair. His color was a little pale, too. “Perhaps keeping up such ties will help hasten true peace between our two countries. Still, with all the unrest it was foolhardy of me to let you have your way.”

“Papa, it didn’t burden you with any undue worry, did it?”

“Of course it did!” he said with a gentle smile. “I worry about you whenever you are out of my sight. Guess I’m worse than a mother hen.”

“I didn’t think before I left that it might make you ill.” She eyed him closely. Sometimes he seemed so well that it was hard to remember his illness.

“You are back safe and sound, and that’s what matters. I would have worried a long sight more if I’d known about the Comanches.

And rustlers to boot!”

“So Pete told you?”

“ ’Course he did, child! How else was he gonna explain the death of one of our vaqueros, not to mention the loss of seventy-five fine mustangs? And when I think how close you came—”

“Papa . . .” Lucie leaned forward and, reaching across the desk, took her father’s hands in hers. “Please don’t strain yourself over it. Praise our God, it all came out fine. Did Pete tell you how one of the outlaws saved my life?”

“Saved your life? What—”

“Oops!” Lucie lowered her eyes and leaned back in her chair. It seemed Pete had been more discreet than she gave him credit for. “Nothing, Papa,” she added. “I forgot to tell you about the beautiful dresses I bought in Mexico City—”

“I think you better tell me about this outlaw.” Reid narrowed his eyes in as stern a gaze as he was ever likely to focus on his daughter.

“Out with it, Lucinda Maria Bonny Maccallum.”

Lucie swallowed. When her father used her full name, he usually meant business. “Oh, it was really nothing to speak of. One of the Comanches grabbed me from our camp during the battle. He was riding off with me when a rustler shot him. I don’t know how he got there—the rustler, that is. I suppose he was in the process of stealing some of our horses when the attack started. He must have been caught in the stampede. We later found his horse with an arrow in the poor beast’s throat. But, Papa, you should have seen the incredible shot that man made! He hit a moving target at over a hundred yards and struck the Indian in the temple. I have never seen such shooting. And he said his vision had been blurry at the time from his fall.”

As she paused to take in a breath, she noted her father was staring, or rather gaping, at her incredulously. She smiled weakly. She had probably again said more than she should have. But she was just too accustomed to telling her father everything.

When Reid finally spoke, his voice was barely a tight gasp. “Why, the fool!”

“He saved my life, Papa.” She didn’t know why she was defending the man. Yes, he had saved her, but he was also a thief, and he had used her as a hostage to escape. All that must negate his heroism. But somehow it didn’t.

“He could have killed
you
with that shot. It was a fool, stupid thing to do.”

“I guess it was.” But she wasn’t convinced. “Anyway, I had a feeling he knew what he was doing. But no matter—he could have stayed hidden, let the Indian carry me off, then slip away himself, unnoticed. But he even came over to make sure I was all right after the Indian’s horse fell. And he caught me when I fainted and stayed with me until I came to, even though he could have been caught at any time. Eventually he was.”

“What’s this?” Reid leaned forward raptly. The color had returned to his face. “Did my boys get that rustler?”

“Well . . .” Her father wasn’t going to be happy at all when he heard the rest of the story. But why should it matter if her father was happy about some rotten rustler?

“Come on, Lucie, all of it,” prompted Reid.

“The men came over before he could get away. Then one of them identified him as a rustler because he had knocked him out—”

“Who knocked whom out?”

“The rustler . . . um . . . knocked out our guard. Well, at least he didn’t kill him, now, did he?”

“You seem a bit defensive of this man.”

“He saved my life.”

“He also stole our horses—”

“We don’t know that. They could have been lost in the stampede.”

Reid ran a hand through his wild hair. “Do you realize it is not likely your rustler was working alone? Pete said he found several tracks up on a ridge overlooking your camp. Figures there was four of them. Pete decided to round up what he could of the mustangs rather than pursue the outlaws. But other tracks indicated they almost certainly got away with a good number of our horses. Moreover, Lucie, before you start glorifying those men, it was pretty heartless of them to ride off when they could have helped defend my men against the Comanches.”

“They didn’t all ride off.”

“You said yourself that fella’s horse had been shot out from under him. He had no choice.”

“But he did, Papa.”

“Let’s not argue over the matter, child. Of course you are grateful to the man. I suppose I am a bit, too. But don’t ever forget he is still a criminal. Pete is gonna ride into San Antonio tomorrow and speak to the ranger captain and see if there can be some sort of search for those men. It is likely they thought they were stealing from Mexicans. They will see what a costly mistake that was.”

Lucie didn’t like it when steel glinted in her father’s hazel eyes. She knew that though he was as loving and gentle as a father could be, he was also a strong, tough man. He had to be to survive in this rough frontier.

“Yes, Papa,” she murmured contritely.

“Oh, Lucie, I don’t want you to think I am angry with you.” He rose from his chair, walked around the desk, and kneeled down before her.