by Lyn Cote
The second emotion—unadulterated fear—swallowed up the first. She stood outwardly calm, but vibrating inside as if she had been struck hard enough to knock her off her feet. And she hated herself for this new frailty. Were her aunt and uncle right about Señor Scully needing to be at Rancho Sandoval to protect her? Was her long gone cousin behind her kidnapping? But why? To gain what? Could anyone hate that deeply for years on end?
Dorritt looked up at Alandra and smiled. “Come and sit beside me, querida.” Dorritt guessed how uneasy and off-kilter Alandra, almost a daughter to her, must feel. Long ago, she herself had been kidnapped too. Then she had broken with her own family and married Quinn, the half-breed frontiersmen, against their wishes.
Alandra sat down on the chair beside Dorritt and they listened to Quinn’s sure, deep voice, reading Psalm Thirty-seven, Dorritt’s favorite.
Dorritt became aware that Scully had followed Alandra and now lingered in the doorway. Alandra must have noticed him too, because Dorritt observed the young woman smoothing stray hair back from her face while she pointedly avoided looking toward the door. Dorritt hid a smile. Quinn ended the psalm and looked up.
Scully turned and let himself out. With an unaccustomed pang, Dorritt watched him go. Alandra was in danger and war had begun. Would they remain untouched if the war came near? Any of them? How would it all end? She reached for Quinn’s hand. Silently she repeated: The Lord knoweth the days of the upright: and their inheritance shall be forever. They shall not be ashamed in the evil time…
The stench of stale sweat filled the small storehouse. Pistol in hand, Scully stood beside Quinn just inside the closed door. Every day for three days they’d brought water and food and questioned the renegade. They needed whatever he knew about why the kidnapping had happened. The prisoner, just a kid—bound hand and foot—glared at them in the murky light. Even though Scully knew very little Comanche, it was easy to follow the exchange just from the tight expressions and harsh sound of the voices.
The prisoner still bared his teeth like a cornered wolf. But his eyes looked exhausted, desperate. He was barely older than Carson.
It made Scully uncomfortable and he averted his eyes. The face of the señorita came to him—her terrified voice. No one would be allowed to hurt her again. His jaw firmed. This Comanche had been a fool to go against Quinn and those he protected.
Quinn stared at the prisoner and then asked another question. Scully looked up. This time the words appeared to hit the Comanche harder. The kid looked suddenly scared, as if he’d been gut-shot.
Quinn’s mouth was a straight tight line. “I just told him—until he tells me what he knows about why Miss Alandra was taken, he’s not getting out of here. I said I do not intend to kill him. So if he doesn’t tell me what he knows, he will die of old age here. But if he tells me, I will believe him and set him free.”
Scully knew that being locked up was worse than torture to a Comanche. He watched the kid struggle with his bonds and try to control his obvious panic.
Quinn stared at the kid and asked him another question. Then Quinn translated in an undertone, “I just asked him if he thought any of his friends would be coming to free him.”
Scully nodded, his own gut tightening. That was enough to sober any living creature. To be shut up in this four-by-four cell for good. No way out. And no one coming to his rescue.
Quinn nodded to Scully and turned toward the door.
The Comanche spoke up, sounding desperate, as if the words were being dragged up from the deepest pit inside him. He glanced up at Quinn and then away and spoke some more, looking ashamed.
Scully understood the kid’s reluctance to tell what he knew. But what did it matter? Scully was certain that his own shot had killed the leader of the renegades. Maybe this young brave had learned his lesson and would go back to his tribe and steer clear of Quinn.
The memory of the señorita’s small hand on his arm for a few moments last night flowed through him. He shrugged his shoulders, as if that could relieve the tension the memory brought.
Quinn replied to the brave with another question. There was a long silence while the Comanche stared into Quinn’s eyes and then nodded. Then Quinn said, “He’s told me all he knows.”
“You believe him?”
“Yes.”
Scully looked at the Comanche and wondered how Quinn could be sure. “What do we do now?” he asked, rubbing his taut neck.
“We take him away from here and set him free.”
It was what Scully had expected. Quinn always kept his word. But he sensed the incident wouldn’t end here. This kidnapping was like a rock dropped in water, rippling, disrupting their peace.
Uneasiness tugged at Scully. He ignored it. Or tried to.
Beside Quinn, Scully rode several miles to the west of Quinn’s rancho. The renegade, still bound by the wrists, sat behind Scully. Finally, Quinn pulled up and said, “We’ll let him go here.” He said something to the prisoner that sounded like a warning, then the brave slid from Scully’s horse.
Quinn tossed an old knife far past the Indian. As the kid ran to retrieve it, Quinn shouted something. Then he turned his horse and galloped away.
Spurring his horse, Scully caught up with Quinn and they rode together, the wind blowing around him, evaporating his sweat. When they were out of the sight of the Comanche, Scully couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What did you say to him?”
“I told him you or I would kill him on sight if we ever saw him again on our land or Alandra’s.”
Scully nodded. He didn’t ask what the Comanche had finally revealed about the señorita’s kidnapping. Just waited.
They had nearly reached the rancho when Quinn slowed his horse. Scully fell in closer beside him. “The brave told me that a Mexican paid the renegades to steal Alandra,” Quinn said.
“What Mexican? Not a Tejano?”
“Mexican. The brave said the man was older, had gray hair mixed with black. The Mexican gave them no name. Promised them horses and gunpowder. Said he wanted Alandra kidnapped and brought to him south of here.”
Scully’s heartbeat sped up. The señorita was still in danger. “South? Where exactly?”
Quinn calmed his horse, startled by a black-eared rabbit dashing in front of them. “This brave said he didn’t know the exact location they were to meet the Mexican. All he was told was that it was just south of the Nueces River.”
“Deeper into Mexico,” Scully commented, gripping his saddle horn. The señorita’s terrified expression came to him again, setting his teeth on edge. “You think it’s that scoundrel, that cousin of Sandoval, who did this?”
“I have no way of knowing if it’s the cousin, but I can’t think of any other Mexican who would hate our Alandra enough to pay to have her kidnapped. And her cousin did kidnap me and Dorritt all those years ago.”
This was news to Scully. Mendoza must be quite a crafty snake to have kidnapped Quinn. A foolhardy one to boot. “You think this Mexican is still using the same trick, then?”
Quinn frowned. “I don’t know. But I still can’t see what he’d gain by kidnapping Alandra now. He wouldn’t gain her property. As soon as she turned eighteen, my guardianship ended and she inherited Rancho Sandoval. She immediately made out a will. She didn’t want any shirttail relation to gain her inheritance.”
“I didn’t think she had any relations,” Scully couldn’t stop himself from saying. Her family is no business of mine.
“Her parents broke with family in Mexico City. Her mother was a mestiza, and Alandra’s father’s pure Spanish Creole family refused to accept the marriage.”
Quinn emphasized the word “pure,” showing disapproval of such pridefulness. So the señorita’s mother had been part Indian. But then so was Ash and Quinn. Squinting in the glaring sunlight, Scully pondered the fact that he’d been taught to look down on half-breeds. Yet who could look down at a man like Quinn?
Quinn went on, “If Eduardo Mendoza is behind this kidnapping
, his hatred of Alandra would be the only cause I can come up with. Unless…” He halted and frowned darkly. “Unless he thought he could force her to marry him.”
Scully froze. “Force her? How?”
Quinn just looked at him. And Scully answered his own question. The cousin could force himself on Alandra and carry her off to Mexico City. If a man was evil enough, he just took what he wanted. Scully fumed.
Quinn cleared his throat. “I’ve waited to give you a chance to think this all over. But when Alandra goes home, I need you to go to Rancho Sandoval with her.” He stared into Scully’s eyes.
Scully didn’t turn away. He didn’t want to refuse, but he didn’t want to go. Both carried equal weight with him. He voiced the first objection that came to mind. “I’d be the only Anglo there. Ramirez, her foreman, speaks English like the señorita, but hardly anybody else does.”
“You work along with the other vaqueros here fine.”
“I picked up what I needed from them.”
“I think you’ve learned to understand Spanish, you just don’t talk it much. You can learn to, if you needed to.”
Scully’s horse, restless from the slow pace, needed some quieting, so he stroked its neck and made soothing sounds. Then he realized that he was just as restless. He wanted to do what Quinn asked; he’d been doing that for years. But leaving Quinn’s rancho stuck in his craw. He liked working for Quinn, as fair and honest a man as could be found, and the ranch was so well run.
Quinn took off his leather hat, wiped his brow, then settled the hat back. “Since you hired on with me in ’26, you’ve gone from a greenhorn with cattle to my top hand. I’ve been planning that when Ash wants to retire, you’d take over here as foreman.”
Scully’s face burned and he couldn’t stop it. To have a man like Quinn want him as foreman was more than he’d ever imagined. He looked away.
“But that’s a ways off. And Ash might outlive us both. A man never knows what will come with each new day. That much I’ve learned in life.”
Scully nodded solemnly. Too true. A man is as grass that withereth.
“I’ll have to think through and talk over what I’ve learned with my wife. But will you go to Rancho Sandoval? Especially now when there could be more danger? Just until we find out who wants to harm Alandra.”
Scully noticed again that Quinn always respected his wife’s counsel and didn’t mind others knowing it. Leaving Quinn’s rancho would be hard. He didn’t owe Quinn anything more than a day’s work for a day’s pay, but this place was special, as close to a home as he’d had since his second ma died. One of those sudden flashes from long ago raced through him. It was dark and he was all alone—He blotted out the memory.
“Come on,” Quinn urged, shifting in his saddle. “Let’s get home. And you’ll eat at the main house again tonight.”
Scully gave Quinn a questioning look. But he did not ask why he’d been invited to eat in the main house again. He didn’t look forward to sitting beside the proud señorita once more. But Quinn always had a good reason for whatever he did.
Scully rode the rest of the way in silence. The image of the señorita with the Comanche blade to her skin stirred him, riled him. Who wanted her out of the way and why?
That night after everyone had gone to bed, Alandra stared out the window of her old room, unable to relax. A lone candle flickered within glass in a wall sconce. She wondered how she could refuse to take Scully to her rancho. She didn’t want to offend Dorritt or Quinn. Until her brother’s death, when she was seven, these two had lived with her at Rancho Sandoval. Then when Quinn had finished building this house, they’d moved here, bringing her with them. Quinn and Ash, with Ramirez, had run the two ranchos as one from here. Alandra rubbed her tight forehead. It was beginning to ache.
The night was quiet. Voices singing an old song and the sound of a guitar wafted from the vaqueros’ house behind the hacienda, near the barn. Señor Scully came to mind once more, unbidden. She began pacing barefoot. At dinner tonight he had barely looked at her, much less spoken to her. His presence, however, had made her more sensitive to everything. And try as she did, she could not ignore the man. She paced to the door and back.
Then it occurred to her that since she’d arrived here three days ago, she had not once ventured farther outside than the wide front porch. She halted, staring outside into the night. I have been acting afraid. This realization shamed her and moved her to action. I cannot let the fear win. But her pulse raced as she put on her shoes and tugged her rebozo down from the peg by the door. Then she hurried through the quiet darkened house, slipped out the front door and down the front porch steps.
Just before her foot touched earth, her heart actually lurched. Then she was running, the terror suddenly goading, driving her, mindless. With a jolt, she bumped against the rail of the empty corral. This stopped her. Panting, she gripped the rough railing as if she were drowning.
She forced her eyes to stay open and made herself breathe in and out evenly. Her pulse slowed bit by bit till it was normal again. Still she clung to the railing.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. A man was standing in the darkness, watching her. Panic clawed her. She nearly cried out. Then she noted how tall the man was and the moonlight glinting on a gold ring on his little finger. Señor Scully. Relief weakened her knees. And a moment later her irritation sparked.
“You need anything, miss?” he asked in his low voice. “Somebody scare you?”
Yes, the man whom you shot three nights ago. She clenched her hands. “I am fine,” she lied. “I was merely in the need of some fresh air, señor.”
“Yes, miss.”
I do not want you, señor, at Rancho Sandoval. I do not want to believe the war will come to my home. I do not want to believe that I need protection, and not from you. The final truth disturbed her more now than the others. “Buenos noches.” She forced herself to release the railing and walked back toward the house. Feeling his gaze upon her the whole way, she made her decision.
And it was not an either or solution. She need not go against Dorritt and Quinn. And she need not have Señor Scully at her home. She would merely remain here a little longer. In time, when her aunt and uncle calmed down, she would return home. Then Ramirez and her vaqueros could and would protect her ably. The war that had come to San Antonio de Bexar would not come to Rancho Sandoval, a day’s ride south. A fresh confidence made her steps quick and sure.
She marched inside and headed directly to Quinn and Dorritt’s bedroom. She’d raised her hand to knock when she heard Dorritt speaking her name: “Alandra is not one who likes to explain things, such as where she’s going and when she’ll be back.”
“I know,” Quinn said, his reply muffled by the door, “but Scully must know where Alandra is whenever she leaves the walls of her casa.”
“But when Alandra was kidnapped, she was in her bed,” Dorritt objected. “Are you sure Scully can protect her? Maybe she should stay here with us?”
Quinn answered, “You’re right. That might be best.”
Though the same idea had been in her mind, hearing Dorritt say she should stay sparked Alandra’s temper. She bristled. Do they think I am a little girl still?
Quinn continued, “If she won’t stay, Scully will just have to guard Alandra’s window at night.”
After he hears my prayers and tucks me into bed? Again Alandra was about to knock, and again she stopped herself. A fresh round of terror washed over her. The Comanche grabbing her, mauling her. Stop, please stop. She pressed both hands against the door frame, holding all her anguish inside and silent.
Dios mio, help me. She wiped tears away with her fingertips, drawing in breath to gain control and clarity. The kidnapping had changed her. It had not weakened her, but it did make her starkly aware that someone wanted to harm her. This was real; she could not deny it.
Her way opened before her. She could not stay here like a little girl, giving into fear. But neither could she be foolhardy. In
haling deeply again, she finally knocked on the door.
There was a pause and rustling inside. “Who is it?” Quinn asked.
“Alandra.”
The door opened after a moment, and she saw Quinn in his buckskin breeches and Dorritt in a white cotton nightgown. The sight of them together in such an intimate setting left her feeling strangely bereft. “I’ll go home tomorrow and will take Señor Scully with me.”
The two of them stared at her, then exchanged glances. Dorritt came and put her arms around Alandra. “I’m sorry this has happened.”
I am also, dear Tía Dorritt. She kissed her aunt’s cheek and turned to go to her room.
“I’m glad you’re taking Scully,” Quinn added, touching her shoulder as she left.
She didn’t turn back; she just bid them a brief good-night. Scully would come to Rancho Sandoval. But she was the dueña there, the lady, and he was the cowboy. And if he tried to start running her ranch, she’d make that unmistakably clear to him.
An unaccountable blush warmed her face.
Oh, when would she be free of peril and his protection? When would her life return to normal?
Late the next afternoon, as they approached Rancho Sandoval, Scully rode stiffly beside the señorita. Behind them rode the vaqueros who had helped in her rescue.
She glanced sideways at him. “We will have to talk over with Ramirez why you have come home with me.”
“I can handle that,” he said.
The señorita’s eyes flashed. But before she could snap out a reply, her eyes widened at the sight of people pouring out of the hacienda, barn, corrales, and jacales—all waving and calling.
Within minutes the rest of the Sandoval vaqueros—shouting and waving their sombreros—galloped out and surrounded Scully and Alandra. They escorted the two of them to the casa. When Alandra dismounted, she was enveloped by her people.
