The Ranger Takes a Bride (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Between
the branches below, Edward glimpsed the black-haired man's hands rise to his chest. Then he dropped to the ground.

Edward scanned the woods again. The yard. The cabin. Were there any others lying in ambush? No movements, aside from the slamming of the cabin door as the woman disappeared inside.

Was it safe to go down? Probably not, but he had to get to Townsend. The man writhed on the ground, clutching his shoulder. He may not last long without care. Edward needed to be down there.

He held his Winchester at the ready as he wound his way down the hill. Nearing the site where Blackie had fallen, Edward slowed. No movement appeared through the trees. He crept toward the body, lying face down among the decaying leaves. No movement there either. With a boot, he rolled the man over. A wide-eyed, glassy gaze stared up at him from a pale face. The man's thick black curls spoke of his Italian ancestry, while the almost white skin was said to have come from the Swedish relatives on his mother's side. Edward leaned down to touch the robber's neck. No blood thumped through his veins.

Straightening, he stared at the man, swallowing past the lump in his throat. No matter how many innocent people the skunk had threatened at gunpoint, he'd still had a mother and father who'd likely loved him.

A faint groan broke through the woods. Edward spun and crept toward the sound. As he pushed the branches aside and peered into the open yard, Edward's focus fell on Townsend, still lying prone on the ground. The dark-haired woman kneeled over him, pressing a cloth to his shoulder. Townsend groaned again and Edward stepped into the clearing, his rifle aimed toward the woman.

"Get back," he growled. He'd never had to point his gun at a woman before, but a fellow Ranger's life might be at stake.

Her dark eyes stared at him without fear, and she didn't move from her position by Townsend's shoulder. "He is much bleeding." She spoke with a heavy Spanish accent, but her words were understandable.

Edward sidled in a wide arc around them both, easing closer so he could see his friend. She lifted the cloth and peered at the exposed flesh of the man's shoulder. Somewhere along the way, his shirt had been opened to reveal the wound, likely at the hands of this woman.

"The bullet went in the back and came out here." She dabbed the blood that seeped out, so Edward could see the penny-size hole in the man's shoulder. Her explanation made sense.

She leaned back and rose to her feet, and Edward refocused the rifle's aim on her. The woman didn't acknowledge the gun, but instead, turned toward the house. "I will get whiskey to clean the wound." The words drifted over her shoulder as she marched to the cabin.

She had nerve, he'd give the woman that. How many rifles had been pointed at her in the past? He lowered his Winchester. But she'd been staying in Blackie's cabin. He couldn't afford to trust her yet, or he might end up like Townsend. On the ground with a bullet through his back.

Townsend groaned again. Edward stepped next to the man and crouched, but kept his gaze and rifle pointed toward the cabin. "You gonna make it?"

The Ranger gripped his wounded shoulder. "Hurts like fire."

"We'll get you bandaged, then head out of here to a doctor." Edward rested the gun across his legs, then quickly stripped first his jacket, then his shirt. It was the closest thing to a bandage he had.

Before he could get his coat back on, the cabin door opened, and the woman reappeared. She carried a clay jug in one hand and a stack of cloths in the other. He grabbed the rifle, scrambled to his feet, and stepped back. Wind whipped over his bare skin, leaving bumps across his flesh. He fought back a shiver.

The woman approached and dropped to her knees beside Townsend. "Put your shirt back on, Señor Ranger. I have cloths for bandage." She spoke without looking at him, but the disdain in her voice was clear. It made him want to duck his head, like a school boy who'd received a dressing down from his teacher. He squared his shoulders. He was a Texas Ranger, and didn't bow in shame to anyone in the state. But even as the thought stiffened his spine, he had the rifle in a grip between his knees and fumbled for the sleeves of his shirt.

"He has lost blood." The woman spoke as she peered under the bloody cloth over Townsend's wound. Then she uncorked the jug and slipped an arm under the man's head. "Drink. This will help with the pain."

The liquid seemed to do the trick, because Townsend gulped several times before pulling away. Setting the jug aside, the woman turned her wide dark eyes on Edward. "I will need your help to hold him while I clean the shoulder."

Edward hesitated. She seemed to be doing what was needed to help the man, but could he trust her enough to set the gun aside? Was she trying to disarm him for an attack? But surely he could overpower this small Mexican woman.

"I do not fight you, señor." Her words jerked his attention back to her face. "My husband was not a good man. He is dead now. I wish only to live peacefully here with mi hija." She spread her hand to take in the small cabin and the field where the animals grazed. "I will care for the wound. And then you and your amigo will go away. Sí?"

Her words seemed earnest. And even though her dark eyes were shadowed, there was a touch of pleading in them. This poor señora. How much had she been through with a good for nothing husband like Blackie?

Crouching on the other side of Townsend's body, he placed the rifle just behind his hip. "What should I do?"

"Hold his arms. This will burn, but will be better if he doesn't move."

Edward did as he was told, while the woman poured whiskey in the open wound. Townsend fought against Edward's hands on his shoulders, moaning as bloody bubbles oozed from the opening. The acrid odor of alcohol and blood scented the air. Edward gritted his teeth against the sight and the sounds. A burn rose from his stomach, but he swallowed it down.

The woman pressed a cloth against the wound and glanced up at Edward. "I need to do the same in the back."

Nodding, he rolled Townsend onto his stomach. The shirt stuck to his back in a viscous ring of crimson. The burn rose higher in Edward's throat, but he clamped his mouth against it.

The señora peeled the cloth back as she poured whiskey into the opening left by the bullet. This one was larger, closer to a half-dollar size. Townsend fought against the pain of the rancid liquid, but his efforts weren't as strong this time. His face had blanched almost white.
God, don't let me lose him.

Within a few more seconds, the woman had clean cloths pressed in the wound, and a longer bandage positioned over Townsend's shoulder. They rolled him to his back again, and she tied the man's injured arm in a sling.

Edward pressed two fingers against his partner's neck, below his jaw. A steady beat thrummed there. Maybe they'd be able to leave today after all. He raised his gaze to the man's face and found him watching every movement.

"Jes get me to town where I can rest up a day. Then I'll be fine." Townsend's voice was weak, but at least he was coherent enough to make sense.

Turning to study Townsend’s horse grazing at the edge of the yard, Edward scrambled for a plan. He needed to get them both back to town, along with Blackie's body.

And then another thought struck him. He looked over at the woman, Blackie's widow. "We need to take your husband's body back to town, ma'am. Would you and your daughter like to come with us?"

As he suspected, she shook her head. "No. Our place is here."

An unexpected lump stuck in his throat. Scanning the dusty yard, he swallowed. This place would be plenty of hard work for a strong man, much less a tiny woman and child.

"We've managed without help for years, Señor Ranger. It is no different now."

Had she read his mind? Edward turned to meet her gaze. The stubborn set of her jaw formed a stark contrast to the tired lines around her eyes. His chest squeezed. Something about her clutched at him, like an aching memory.

Alejandra had that same stubborn jaw when she first came to the ranch. And more than once, her eyes had glistened with the same pain and fear reflected in this woman's gaze.

The memory spurred an urgency within him. He had to see Alejandra.

He turned back to the woman. "Is there anything you need from your husband's body before I load up? Would you like to pay your respects?"

She shook her head.

"Can I help with anything here before we leave?" He scanned the yard. A pile of wood leaned against the wood frame of the cabin. At least they were stocked for a week or two. The place was in sad need of repair, but he couldn't spare time to reframe the building and patch the roof. Could he?

"Go, señor. Take your friend to the doctor." Her face was resigned, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. "We will be fine."

He released a breath. "All right."

After he hiked back up the hill to retrieve his horse, it took all his strength to lift Blackie's limp body onto Townsend's horse. Especially with the animal shifting away from the bulky form in his arms. Getting Townsend on Edward's own mount was only slightly easier. The man broke out in a sweat with the effort, his skin almost as pale as Blackie's.

"Stay with me, partner." Edward swung up behind the man, then reached for the reins to the other horse the señora held for him.

"You want to take whiskey for him?" She nodded toward Townsend as he doubled over the saddle horn.

Should he? It should only take a few hours to reach town, and how much could a few occasional sips help the man? "No. Gracias."

The little girl crept up behind her mother, and the woman stepped back to join her.

He couldn't help but stare at the two of them. The little girl, so much like Emmaline. And the brave young mother, so much like Alejandra. And now they were completely alone. Widowed and fatherless.

And he'd been the one to make them that way. The thought smashed into him like a blow to his lungs. Anger sluiced through him. Fury at Blackie, for being the despicable skunk he'd been. And at himself, for leaving these women alone and helpless. Sure he'd been doing his job, killing the desperado. But had he ever done anything to help the family members left abandoned by the blood shed at his own hands?

Why did he do this job? To help people? That was what he told himself. But was that really what drove him every day? Or was it the need to prove himself? But at what cost? Alejandra wouldn't come near him as long as he wore the badge. Was it really worth it?

The country needed Rangers like Townsend. Men who could handle the rough parts. Even take a bullet and keep fighting against the lawless. But he was tired of putting his life on the line every day for a selfish goal. Tired of leaving his family, sometimes for weeks at a time. And he wanted Alejandra to trust him.

Nodding in farewell to the woman and child, Edward nudged his horse forward. Once he dropped these men at the first town, he was headed to Headquarters in Austin to resign his commission. His Rangering days were over.

Chapter Nineteen

Edward
pushed open the door to Headquarters, removing his hat as he entered. He strode toward the simple desk that stood like a guard in front of the corridor to the offices.

Nodding to the man with the handle-bar mustache who sat behind it, he asked. "Captain Peak in his office?"

The man reached for the pocket watch at the top of his vest pocket. "Yes, but he has an appointment in five minutes."

"I shouldn't need longer than that." Edward skirted the desk and strode down the hall to the second door on the right. Before he could knock, it swung open.

Captain Peak lifted a brow at Edward's raised hand, but stepped aside and swept a hand for Edward to enter. "Come in, Stewart. I was just about to wire you. I need you to lead a company of Rangers to bring in the Garza gang."

"The Garza gang, sir?"

The captain paced as he spoke. "We think there are seven or eight in the group, and they've been terrorizing the country from Nuevo Laredo almost to San Antonio. They've robbed two stages, killed all the passengers, and burned at least a dozen homesteads, torturing the families before they killed them." The man whirled and leveled his gaze on Edward. "They have to be stopped, Stewart. And I think you're the man to lead the mission. Are you up for it?"

Edward swallowed. Lead this assignment? He was here to resign. But how could he say no when so many lives were at stake? If this gang wasn't stopped, how many more innocent families would be tortured and murdered?

"I'll make you an acting Sergeant for this assignment. And if it's successful—which I'm sure it will be…" Captain Peak sent him a pointed look. "I should be able to get my recommendation passed to promote you to Sergeant permanently. You'll have earned it."

The Captain spun and marched to his desk, as if the matter were settled. "Here's the poster for the gang. And the notes on their known attacks. You'll have five Rangers with you. Meet them at the jail in San Antonio no later than tomorrow morning." He held several papers in Edward's direction.

Should he speak what he'd come to say? Or take this assignment and deal with the resignation later?

When the papers weren't immediately taken, Peak's brows lowered. "What's wrong?"

The question was enough to spur Edward into action. "Sir. I came here to resign my commission. I'll take this last assignment, if you need me to. But then, I'll have to bow out. It's been a pleasure to serve under you though, Captain."

Captain Peak stroked a hand over the course gray hair of his beard. "I'm sorry to hear that, Stewart. You plannin' to settle down?"

Edward met the man's softened gaze. "Maybe so."

The captain stepped around the desk, and clapped Edward on the back as he handed him the papers. "I hope she's worth it, son. The Rangers will miss you."

~ ~ ~

Two
days later, Edward stretched out on his saddle blanket under a cloudy night sky, weariness weighting his bones. His muscles were conditioned to jostling in the saddle all day, but with this assignment on the heels of tracking down Blackie…his endurance was wearing thin.

They'd covered some good ground today. But after inspecting the burnt shells of the houses the Garza gang had torched, and seeing all those fresh graves—his muscles had formed hard knots along his shoulders. And it didn't help that the gang's trail looked to be along the route just north of Seguin. Was his family in danger? The Double Rocking B was on the south side of town. And two miles out. Surely that meant they were safe.

Pulling his bedroll blanket a little higher on his chest, Edward allowed his eyelids to drift shut. As he inhaled several deep breaths, the night sounds crept into his awareness. Crickets. An owl hooting to its mate. This would be a nice evening to sit on the front porch at the Double Rocking B and enjoy the animal noises. With Alejandra beside him.

The familiar pang tightened his chest. She permeated every thought, every action. What would she say about his change of vocation? The thought almost pushed him upright. What would he do for a living now? Go back to work for Jacob? In some subconscious region of his mind, that's what he must have been planning. But was that really what he wanted?

God, what's your plan for me?
He tried to still himself. Quiet his racing thoughts and listen for his Father's voice. A fragment from Scripture flitted through his mind.
Seek ye first the kingdom of God.
It was a passage he'd read yesterday morning over a breakfast of dried jerky and coffee.

Edward rose from his makeshift bed, careful not to disturb the other Rangers stretched out around the campfire. He reached for the leather-bound Bible from his saddle bag, and flipped to the book of Matthew, chapter six.

Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? Or, What shall we drink? Or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?

For after all these things the Gentiles seek, but your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.

But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

Take therefore no thought for the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

Edward drew in a long breath, then released it, letting go of the tension in his muscles.
Okay, God. You're right. I have a job to do now. But I need You to keep my family safe. And Alejandra. Give me strength to deal with the evil I'll be facing.

~ ~ ~

Alejandra reined the Palomino mare down to a walk as they entered the stretch of woods that bordered the Guadalupe River. She owed Mama Sarita a debt for taking care of breakfast this morning. But with the faint traces of morning fog still swirling around her, and the chill invigorating her senses, it was all worth the chance to escape for an early morning excursion to the river. She pulled the cloak tighter around her.

When she arrived at the water, she tied the mare to the large live oak at the river's edge. After removing the cloak from her shoulders, she placed it on a large rock, then sat atop it to soak up the morning sun as it glinted off the blue water. She'd been here a few times since Edward first showed her the spot, but none compared to that first trip with him.

What was it about Edward's presence that made the little things come alive for her? He was a mystery. Despite everything she'd learned to associate with men that wore a badge, Edward was different. He'd proven his kindness so many times. And not just kindness to her—but also to Anna, little Emmaline, the tiny niño, Mama Sarita. Even the care and concern he'd given the little runt puppy, Sol. All the vaqueros seemed to respect him.

Did that mean she could trust Edward, too? Bumps raised on the back of her arms. Could she trust a man who wore a badge? What if he hurt her like the other soldiers had? Only this time, if the longing in her chest meant anything, it would be her heart left scarred, not her face.

A horse nickered softly behind her. She turned toward the sound, but a hand clamped over her mouth, jerking her head back. What in the world? Fear shot through her.

Before she could get her bearings, another arm gripped her waist in a vice, holding her arms tight to her sides. As the hands dragged her backward off the rock, she fought to scream, but the sound strangled in her throat.

And then she was surrounded. Men everywhere. Dark-skinned Mexican men. Binding her hands in front of her, stuffing a filthy rag into her mouth and tying it tight. They held her feet so she couldn't kick out, while one after another leered in front of her. Touching her cheeks, her neck. One man ran a hand all the way down her side, saying things more vile than she'd thought possible.
Oh, God. Don't let them do such things!

Without warning, she was jerked off her feet, and hauled like a limp sack draped over a man's arm. The muscled hold across her body and the gag sealing off her mouth brought back a wash of memories. Nightmares she'd fought against for years. The last time she'd been bound like a criminal and carried by a rough soldier…the most awful day of her life. Would this experience be even worse?

Dangling in this precarious position over the man's arm, her legs were free. She used the opportunity to its full extent, striking hard with her boots into any flesh she could reach.

The man swore. Suddenly, she was flying through the air, tossed like a tortilla over his shoulder, her legs clamped together under the man's arm. She couldn't move now. Could barely breathe with the weight of her body pushing down on her chest against the desperado's back, and the rag over her mouth.

After a few more jouncing strides, she was hoisted away from him and tossed up into a saddle. She landed hard on the leather-wrapped horn, searing lightning bolts shooting through her body. Again an arm clamped around her midsection, as the man in the saddle behind her held tight. Alejandra fought to lean forward, pulling her body as far away from his as she could.

"What's the matter, querida?" That leering voice. It had to be the same man who'd spoken the awful things a moment ago. He tightened his hold, pressing her body against his. Alejandra stopped fighting, dread pricking her skin. She kept her body as rigid as possible. The hot, foul-smelling breath on her neck made her stomach roil, threatening to bring up the corn atole she ate before leaving the house. 

The other men mounted horses, and a tall skinny one motioned toward the trees up river. The rest fell into line behind him, weaving through the trees at a fast walk, sometimes breaking into a trot when the foliage wasn't as dense. The chill of the morning was worse in the woods, and Alejandra fought against the shivers that threatened. Why had she taken her cloak off? There were three riders ahead of her, and she'd only gotten a glimpse of the others, but maybe two or three behind.

They rode through the woods for what seemed hours, branches smacking Alejandra's face and arms when the riders ahead pulled them back. One particular whack on her jaw stung longer than the others, and a trickle of moisture itched as it crawled down her face. With her hands bound, the best she could do was wipe it against her shoulder, leaving a large red smear on her beige shirtwaist.

At last, they broke through the edge of the woods and turned onto a road. The man in the front called "Cisco!" and the horse just ahead of Alejandra left the line and trotted up to the leader. The men shared a few terse comments, then Cisco spurred his horse and took off ahead of them at a canter.

The men settled into a quiet line again, the horses clomping at a steady trot on the narrow road. With the mid-morning sun shining down, Alejandra finally began to thaw. She craned her neck both directions, trying to find a landmark that might place their surroundings. Only trees lined both sides of the road. It wasn't a path she'd ridden before. Were they moving away from Seguin? Surely if they were headed toward the town, they would have been there by now. So were they riding toward San Antonio? Moving upriver meant they were going north, right? But she hadn't seen the river since they first captured her, so she really had no idea which way they were headed.

About an hour later, a shrill whistle pierced the air, and then the leader motioned toward the trees on their right side. The group merged into the woods, weaving away from the road for a minute or two before the leader barked an order, and they reined their horses back in a single file line. They seemed to be riding in the same direction as the road now, so why had they left it? The whistle must have been a sign from the scout sent ahead. Did that mean other travelers were headed her direction? Alejandra's heartbeat sped at the thought, desperation driving it harder. They were far enough from the road that any faint noise she made through the gag would never be heard. And she couldn't risk angering these men until she had a plausible opportunity for escape. She'd have to keep her eyes open—somehow come up with a plan.

As if he could read her mind, the man’s burly arm around Alejandra's waist tightened. The gravelly voice spoke in her ear. "Don't even think about it, Senorita. You are mine until I am through with you." His thumb sneaked up to stroke the swell of her side. She tensed, jerking away from his touch. He chuckled before sliding his hand back to her waist.

An icy prickle shot down Alejandra's spine. She had to find a way of escape.