Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (69 page)

“Pilar.”

For a moment his features softened, and Lucie was comforted to know her brother had found love.

“She is a gentle, sweet woman. But she doesn’t like me to be away so much.”

“I shouldn’t wonder!” Lucie smiled, already feeling a kinship to the sister-in-law she might never meet.

“Someday I will stay home with her for good. When all the trouble ends, when there is peace between our two countries.”

“Let us pray for peace, then.”

“I must go,” he said reluctantly.

“Try to find a way to tell us when your baby is born. Papa will be a grandpa, and I will be an aunt. We want to know when that happens.” And though she had wanted to be brave, she could not prevent the tears from spilling out of her eyes. She threw her arms around him again.

She felt a deep fervency in his returned embrace. He kissed the top of her head.

“Adios!”
he said finally, letting go of her reluctantly.

He retreated to the far side of the tree where Lucie now saw he had carefully concealed his horse.
Adios
! She tried to reply but could not get words past her constricted throat. She lifted a hand instead in mute farewell.

Oh, God, let him come back! Please let him come back.

Micah had seen Lucie ride out to the big misshapen mesquite tree. He would have called to her, but he didn’t know why he kept silent. She had been riding with such purpose that he was reticent to stop her. He didn’t know what to make of her riding out like that so near dark and all alone. Is that what she did when she was angry? Then all the more reason not to approach her, even to apologize. He didn’t want to face her anger again. It had hurt him more than he cared to admit. It had hurt to have such a wedge driven through the sweet things that had happened between them such a short time before.

He decided to just keep an eye on her for a few minutes to gauge if it was safe to go to her. He reined his buckskin up sharply when she dismounted at the tree and a man stepped out. Micah pulled his pistol, ready to kill the man if he tried to harm Lucie, but it quickly became obvious this was no chance meeting.

Micah dismounted Jose, tied him to a branch of one of the few other trees nearby, then crept in closer to the pair. He wanted to make certain Lucie was not in trouble, but if she wasn’t, if this was some friendly meeting, well, he wanted to know about that, too!

Circling the mesquite tree, Micah found the man’s mount. It looked vaguely familiar. Where had he seen such a horse? It had been recently. A sleek black stallion with one white sock.

He made his way back to where he had a view of Lucie and her . . . friend? He was still too far to hear their conversation, though he could discern it was in Spanish. And it was obvious that, though it was impassioned at times, it was not hostile. Who was this man? One of the vaqueros? Surely he was Mexican. Then Micah remembered. It had only been this morning, though so much had happened since to cloud his memory, that he had chased just such a stallion.

Joaquin Viegas rode a black mount with one white sock.

Then Micah’s breath caught painfully as Lucie threw her arms around this man, not once, but twice! And that embrace had been filled with passion. What was she up to? What kind of game was she playing? What kind of fool was she playing Micah for? Here he had come back ready to apologize for his harsh words, ready to accept her heritage or at least to tolerate it. And what was she doing? Having some kind of romantic rendezvous, not only with a man, but with a notorious Mexican outlaw!

Sweet Lucie? It couldn’t be.

But there was the proof before his eyes.

Then Viegas—it had to be him!—rode away. He headed south, so Micah was not in danger of being discovered. But he knew he was, nevertheless, in very great danger. And he had worried about hurting
her
! He had to be the worst kind of fool. And like the fool he surely was, he was not about to just slither away, leaving her to her machinations. She was not going to get away with it. So intent was he on confronting Lucie, it didn’t occur to him he was missing a prime opportunity to catch the outlaw.

He jumped up from his hiding place and fairly charged into the clearing by the deformed tree. He saw her race to her horse and was afraid she was going to get away. But he quickly saw escape was not on her mind. He screeched to a halt, looking down the barrel of the rifle she had suddenly drawn from her saddle scabbard.

“Stop there or I’ll shoot!” she cried.

“Lucie, it’s me.”

“Micah?”

“Yeah. Put that rifle down!”

She lowered the weapon but did not replace it in its scabbard. “What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I could ask you the same question,” he accused. “I came back to apologize, only to find you in the arms of another man.”

“What are you talking about?”

Even in the deepening darkness he could see the bewilderment on her face. “I saw, Lucie. I saw him.” It surprised him how wounded he felt. Ever since he met her, he had been trying to push her away. He should be glad she wasn’t interested in him. But the white-hot anger he now felt proved otherwise. And the fury was even greater than when he’d seen her with that Carlton fellow. Probably because since then she had made empty confessions of love to Micah. It certainly wasn’t because the man was a Mexican, an enemy.

Lucie sighed. “You have it all wrong, Micah.”

“I saw you two embrace.”

“And what should that matter to you, anyway?” she said, her temper flaring. “A little while ago you walked out on me—”

“You told me to leave.”

“Only because you insulted me.”

Micah cursed in his frustration.

“And don’t you curse at me either!” she warned.

Micah sucked in a steadying breath. “Who was that man?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything!”

“He was Joaquin Viegas, wasn’t he?”

She drew her lips taut, as if she feared what might escape them.

Then she, too, took a breath. “Go away,” she said tightly, “before we . . . before things get out of hand.”

“What were you doing having a secret rendezvous with a low-down, traitorous outlaw?”

“Who said it was secret?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on!”

“I am not saying another word!”

“Lucie, this is serious.” Only then did the full import of the situation truly strike him. “If it wasn’t a romantic tryst . . .” Please let it not be that, he silently prayed! “If not that, then the only other conclusion that can be drawn is that you are somehow in league with Viegas’s band.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Micah tried to rein in his anger. This was serious, more so than he at first thought. It went far beyond his bruised feelings.

“Listen,” he said with forced control, “you are courting disaster here.

You better consider yourself lucky it was me who found you—”

“What? And not some narrow-minded bigot?” she rejoined snidely.

Then she gasped, obviously sorry about what she had said.

They both fell silent, a silence filled with tension and confusion.

Staring at each other, Micah knew she was probably thinking the same as he. How could they get out of the corner they had backed into? How could their harsh words be retracted? And more importantly, who would make the first move toward conciliation?

It wasn’t going to be him. He still wasn’t certain he’d done anything wrong. Well, maybe not now, but he had been wrong before, back at her house when he had accused her of deception. Or had he been wrong after all? He had just found her with a Mexican bandit.

“Ah, Lucie . . .” he breathed, not even realizing he’d voiced his dismay. But now that he’d started, it was easier to continue. “We’ve made a real mess, haven’t we?”

“I guess so,” she replied tightly.

“It’s my fault.” At first he’d thought to be magnanimous by taking the blame, but as he said the words, he knew the full truth of them. “It was wrong of me to accuse you of deception before. You have the purest heart of anyone I know. I, of all people, had no right. As for what happened now . . . I have no hold on you. For heaven’s sake, I have done all I could to discourage you. I’m a real jackass for making accusations. I—”

She raised a finger and set it against his lips. “Joaquin Viegas is my brother,” she said quietly.

“Your what?” he gasped. This was more stunning than any surprise he’d had thus far.

“I hope you can understand why my family has kept this secret. I didn’t mean to deceive you.”

“How can this be?” He had been thrown seriously off balance by this and was trying desperately to make sense of it. One of the worst enemies of the Republic of Texas was Lucie Maccallum’s brother. The man whom it was Micah’s sworn duty to hunt down, capture, and most likely kill was Lucie’s brother. It suddenly seemed this was the final blow to fantasies he’d only barely let himself have about this sweet, decent gal.

“Joaquin had his reasons to throw in with Mexico,” she said.

“No one knows about this?”

“Papa has one or two loyal friends who may know, but for the most part, it has been a fairly well-kept secret. Most folk think my brother just went to live in Mexico or the States or perhaps even died.” She paused.

He now noticed her lip was trembling. He wanted to hold her and comfort her, but that would only compound all the mistakes he’d made that day.

“Lucie, today by the creek bank—”

“Yes, I tried to distract you and the other rangers to give him time to get away. What else could I do? He’s my brother!” Tears welled in her eyes.

He thought he could handle her anger better than her misery, though he’d made a poor job of that as well. “Folks might not see it that way,” he said lamely as he tried to figure out what
he
thought about it. She wasn’t going to give him a break, though.

“What do you think?” she asked incisively.

“It don’t matter what I think—”

“Yes, it does! It matters to me! Do you think I am in league with the notorious outlaw? That perhaps I am his spy?”

“Shoot!” He kicked at the dirt. He hated being in this position. Maybe he could lie. But she was too smart to fall for lies. “I don’t know what to think. Your loyalties are torn. I can see that.”

“I love Texas. I am not a traitor.”

“Maybe without even realizing it—”

“No!” she shouted. “I am not a traitor.”

“Your pa—”

“Don’t even say it, Micah!” Her eyes flashed like a lion protecting her young. “My father is a hero of San Jacinto. He fought against Santa Anna when he knew his only son was in the army of the enemy. No one had better
ever
question his loyalty!”

“People will talk.”

“Not if they never find out.” Her words were a clear challenge.

“Unless I find any clear evidence against you, I won’t say anything, Lucie. I swear to God.”

“To God, Micah?”

“I guess that’s a pretty empty oath coming from me, but what else would convince you I mean it?”

“I’ll just take your word for it.” Her tone had grown cold.

He hated himself for asking, “Is everything spoiled now, Lucie?”

The smile that slanted upon her lips was as cold as her voice, and her eyes—her beautiful, warm, dear eyes—stared at him now like a chill frost. And he knew he had lost something he’d not even had the courage to grasp.

“I’d like to be left alone now,” she said.

He nodded. “Sure . . . I . . . uh . . . will go, then.” He paused, not knowing why, just hoping. But she did not stop him. “I’ll see you.”

“I don’t think so. You were right, Micah. We are too different.”

When he didn’t move, she turned and walked to her horse, mounted, and rode away.

Micah watched. He remembered only one other time he’d felt emptier. The day his mother had died.

Young Pedro waited until the gringo rode off before making his own way back to the ranch. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but who could blame him for being too afraid to make his presence known? Señorita Lucie had just been talking to two very dangerous-looking men. One, the gringo, Pedro had seen before at the ranch and knew to be a ranger. But the other, could it be possible he was really Joaquin Viegas?

Pedro had been near enough to hear much of the conversation except when the wind carried away the sound before it reached his ears. Hearing was one thing, however. Understanding was a different matter. One thing was clear, the
patrón
’s daughter was closely related to Joaquin Viegas.

What to do about this matter now plagued Pedro as he returned to the ranch, running all the way. Only as he saw Pete Barnes walking from the stable to the bunkhouse did he decide.

“Señor Pete!” he called, jogging up to the foreman.

“What is it, Pedro? You look all in a lather.”

“Señor, I have seen something.” Pedro paused and glanced nervously around. “I must talk to you alone.” There was no one in the yard at the moment, but it might not remain so.

“Let’s go to the springhouse,” Pete said.

Once at the springhouse, Pedro launched into his recent experience. “Pete, I saw him! She was talking to him, not a quarter of a mile from here—”

“Saw who, boy?”

“The bandito—I am certain it was him. Joaquin Viegas himself!”

“What’s this?” Pete leveled narrow, incisive eyes at the boy.

Pedro would have trembled at the foreman’s look had he not just survived being a stone’s throw away from a notorious outlaw. Besides, though Pete could be tough, he had always been good to Pedro. Trying to remain calm and speak clearly, Pedro related what he had seen and heard of the conversation between Lucie and Joaquin. Pedro did not mention the gringo, only because it did not seem important beside the incredible encounter with Viegas.

“That’s a mighty tall tale,” Pete said when the boy was finished.

“I swear it is the truth!”

“Well, seeing as how you and I share the same name, and you have always been a good boy, I’m gonna take you at your word.”

Pedro sighed with relief, not only that his story was believed, but also because he did not like carrying something like this alone. “What should we do?”

“You think a lot of the
patrón
and his daughter, don’t you, Pedro?” When the boy nodded emphatically, Pete continued, “Well, then, the best we can do for them is to forget all about this. Don’t sound like the
patrón
is involved at all, and with him ailing and all, it just wouldn’t do to worry him over this.”