The Ranger Takes a Bride

The Ranger

Takes a Bride

Texas Rancher Trilogy

Book 2

Misty M. Beller

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2015 Misty M. Beller

All rights reserved.

ISBN:
069249281X

ISBN-13:
978-0692492819

Dedication

To my husband.

For his commitment and caring,

and the many little ways he shows them both.

I’m thankful God brought us together.

And he said unto me, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me
.

2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV)

Chapter One

November 20, 1875

Rancho Las Cuevas, Tamaulipas, Mexico

Alejandra
Diaz picked her way across the rocky ground, a band of dread tightening her chest. This was not a message she wanted to give, but desperation compelled her.

Reaching the rough wooden door of the adobe hut, she rapped lightly with one hand and pushed it ajar with her other. "Mama Sarita?"

"Sí, mija."

As Alejandra's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, she focused on the slender figure standing by the work table. Mama Sarita held knife in hand, poised over something on the counter. Red peppers most likely, judging by the sweet aroma lacing the air. But the woman's eyes focused on Alejandra, and the love that usually shone there mixed with wariness and fear.

Forcing her feet to carry her forward, Alejandra blinked back tears as she stood in front of the woman who had become as dear to her as her own sweet mama had been. But Mama Sarita wasn't her mother. She was Luis' mama. The
madre
of her
prometido
—promised one. And now he was gone, and it was up to Alejandra to break the news.

"Mama Sarita." Alejandra stopped to force moisture into her parched throat.

"What is it, child?" Mama Sarita raised a hand to cup Alejandra's cheek. The calluses on the woman's work-roughened fingers were the touch of love.

Alejandra's eyes and throat burned with the sting of tears. "Mama. The news is bad,
es terrible
."

Mama Sarita's palm dropped from Alejandra's cheek to clutch her hand. "My Luis? And Ricardo?" Her grip tightened on Alejandra's palm, but it was a welcome pain.

"I'm so sorry, Mama." Alejandra couldn't hold back the tears anymore, as they streamed down her face. "The soldiers killed them both. And my papa, too. Señor Salinas and eighty men. All gone at the hands of the…American Rangers." Alejandra spat out the last words, almost choking on them.

Mama Sarita pulled her into a tight embrace. The feel of this madre's arms was more than Alejandra could resist, and she allowed the sobs to overcome her body. First her own mother had been murdered at the hands of French soldiers all those years ago. Now Papa. And Luis, her promised one and best hope for a suitable husband. And Papa Ricardo, Luis' padre.

A wave of realization washed over Alejandra. Now she and Mama Sarita had only each other. In one fell swoop, the soldiers had left them both alone and abandoned.

Alejandra clutched the woman's swaying body tighter. As long as there was breath in her body, Mama Sarita would never be alone.

~ ~ ~

Alejandra
ladled the atole into a bowl, then settled a spoon into the thick, grainy liquid. Mama Sarita liked atole with plenty of ground corn so it was more like a porridge than a drink, so that's exactly how Alejandra made it. Mama Sarita said it kept her menfolk full longer, so they could work harder. She always patted Papa Ricardo's muscular shoulder when she said the words. The love between them always lit the small adobe dwelling. Pain seared Alejandra's heart at the memory—partly because she mourned the loss of the three men who had meant the most to her, and partly because of the agony Mama Sarita must be experiencing. Papa Ricardo and Luis had been her world.

Swallowing back fresh tears, she carried the bowl to the front doorway and sat next to the hunched figure seated on the stoop. "I brought your breakfast. Thick, warm atole."

Mama Sarita accepted the bowl Alejandra placed in her hands, but her eyes stared out across the narrow dusty road that ran in front of the hut. The trail passed by each of the ranch worker huts nestled in openings in the trees, and eventually ended at the Rincon de Cucharras outpost of the vast Rancho Las Cuevas.

Rancho Las Cuevas had been her and Papa's home for these six years, but much longer for Mama Sarita. How long had Luis said? They'd come here when he was but a child of five. And now, he would have celebrated his veinte años in less than a week. Twenty years. Except the American soldiers killed him. Alejandra fought the urge to hit something. But instead, she raised her hand to finger the scar that marred her right cheek, extending from her cheekbone to the base of her ear. Yes, soldiers brought nothing but pain and heartache.

"What was the fighting about, mija?" Mama Sarita's voice drifted through the tirade in Alejandra's mind.

She turned to look at the older woman. But Mama Sarita still stared into the distance, over the road and into the woods beyond.

Alejandra swallowed. "I'm not sure exactly. There was trouble with some cattle. I think our
vaqueros
brought the animals across the Rio Bravo, and the
soldados Americano
wanted to take them back. They killed Señor Salinas and eighty of our vaqueros."

"So the cattle belonged to the Americanos?"

Alejandra jerked her attention to Mama Sarita's face. The leathery skin between her brows pinched, as if she were trying to decipher a mystery.

"Sí, mama."

"And they took the animals back across the river?"

"Sí." What was Mama Sarita trying to determine? If the Americanos were in the right? Of course not. They were soldiers, invading a land that wasn't their own and murdering innocent people. Murdering Papa.

The thrumming of hoof beats in the distance finally brought Mama Sarita's head around. Through the trees, a rider became visible. A man wearing the wide-brimmed hat of a vaquero. As he reined his bay to a stop in front of them, a cloud of dust rose into the dry air. He removed his hat to swipe the dust away, exposing unruly black hair and thick brows, a perfect match to his long mustache.

Alejandra rose to her feet in deference to Señor Vegas, one of the foremen at the outpost. Mama Sarita didn't leave her perch on the step.

"Buenos dias, Señora Garza. Señorita Diaz. I'm glad to find you together." He nodded to them both, his mustache curving down as his mouth pinched.

"Señor Vegas." Mama Sarita's greeting held a quiet authority.

"My news is not good. You know of the fighting with the Texas Rangers, si?"

Alejandra nodded.

"Many vaqueros were lost. Your men among them." He paused and eyed them both, as if assessing whether they'd heard the news already.

The now-familiar burn pricked Alejandra's throat and stung her eyes. But through her blurry vision, she glimpsed a nod from Mama Sarita. Did the older woman not have any tears left? Or was she still in shock, not fully understanding what had happened?

The man continued. "As you know, the houses you both live in are ranch property. For the vaqueros and their families." His fingers squeezed the round crown of his hat, crunching it like soft cotton. "Since you don't have men to work on the ranch…." he stopped to clear his throat, "you must plan to leave."

He looked down, apparently lacking courage to meet their expressions. And that may have been a wise choice, but Alejandra still did her best to burn a hole through him with her gaze. How dare this man throw them out of their homes?

A motion in the corner of Alejandra's gaze caught her attention, and she turned to watch Mama Sarita slowly unfold herself from the stoop and rise. An Aztecan queen never moved with such regal bearing, such quiet nobility. She stepped forward, stopping a length away from Señor Vegas.

"Señor." Mama Sarita's voice was strong. "I would like to inquire after work—at the main house or one of the outposts. I am willing to clean or cook for the Don and Doña. Alejandra would make an excellent nurse for the wee babe."

The man shook his head before she was half through with her request. He held up a hand to silence any further words. "Señora. So many vaqueros have left wives. There is not work enough in all Tamaulipas for them to be cooks and housekeepers. You must go."

With those final words, he jerked the horse's reins to spin the animal around. The unsuspecting gelding threw up its nose, eyes wide, before it acceded to the pull and spun toward the road.

Señor Vegas reined in the animal after only a few strides, then turned in the saddle to look back at them. "Señora, it will be a few days before the new vaqueros arrive. You may have until Saturday to move your belongings."

Three days. They had three days to close out the remnants of life as they knew it and create a new purpose.

As the anger that had coursed through Alejandra's veins dissipated, despair filled its place, pushing down on her shoulders like layers of thick woolen ponchos.

Mama Sarita turned, still standing near the road where she'd spoken to the foreman. Her face mirrored the same weariness that pressed down on Alejandra's spirit. Mama Sarita wasn't an old woman—barely past child-bearing years. But the deep lines that formed around her mouth, eyes, and forehead gave the appearance she had lived more than one lifetime.

And maybe she had. After all, hadn't she grown up in
América
? Living in another world, until Papa Ricardo won her heart and brought her to live in Mexico.
Como México no hay dos
, Papa Ricardo always said. Mexico is second to none. After living so many years in this land, Mama Sarita almost looked like a native now, despite her dark brown hair and rich cocoa eyes. Her skin had leathered under the Southern sun, and she spoke the language like any countryman. Yes, Mama Sarita belonged here.

A surge of love welled in Alejandra's chest, and she stepped forward to take Mama Sarita's arm. "Come, Mama. Eat, and then we will make plans."

~ ~ ~

November 21, 1875

San Antonio, Texas

Edward
Stewart gave the outlaw a shove as the man shuffled into the small jail cell. Neither of them spoke while he swung the metal door shut and turned the key. A click radiated through the small room, and he gave the door a sound shake to make sure it was secure. The man inside grunted as he plopped into an old spindle-back chair, then folded his greasy head into his hands.

Edward spun on his heel and strode out of the jail area, into the front office. They'd been traveling most of the day without stopping for food or drink, so the prisoner would need rations. He couldn't bring himself to hurry, though. It was hard to pity a man who would steal from innocent women and children.

As he tossed the jail key on the deputy's desk, a rush of adrenaline blasted through him. Another assignment complete. Another scoundrel behind bars. The Texas Rangers were victorious again.

He met the deputy's gaze with a nod. "He's locked up and still cuffed. Might get a bit hungry soon, but I'm not worried about 'im."

The deputy stroked his mustache. "We'll keep him secure 'til the judge comes around. Just leave yer report."

Edward turned, lifted his hat, and scraped a hand through his hair. "I'm a bit short on grub. I'll write out the details while I eat a bite at the Riverwalk."

He strode out the front door and through the gate that surrounded the jail and courthouse, then fell into stride on the road with the other passersby and wagons. A sea of people going every direction. And where was he headed? Where did this vacant spot in his chest tell him to go?

For two years now, he'd been a Texas Ranger. Part of the family of men who'd built a reputation as tough lawmen, the bravest in any territory. And among the Rangers, he worked hard to be one of the best. A far cry from "Little Brother," as the cowpunchers called him when he'd worked on his sister's ranch back home. So why wasn't it enough?

Edward stepped up on the boardwalk, then veered around a well-dressed couple strolling down the center of the wood plank walkway. The woman wore gobs of lace and finery, and her laughter tinkled like a bell on the breeze.

Maybe he needed a woman. A pretty little flower to walk on his arm and laugh at his jokes. But when exactly would he have time to escort a wife around town? Ranger assignments kept him traveling for days at a time, with a short night or two at home before he climbed back in the saddle for the next job. Nope. There was good reason why most Rangers remained unmarried.

So what is it, Lord?
What am I missing?

The question reverberated in Edward's chest as he pushed through the swinging doors of the Riverwalk Café. There'd be time to dwell on that empty feeling later. Now was his chance for a decent meal, before he had to saddle his horse and track down another desperado.