by Lyn Cote
The others approached her slowly. She read the confusion and sympathy on their faces, and put her hands over her eyes so she would not have to see it.
“Your relatives must have stolen everything before they left.” Scully’s voice was strong, loud, angry.
Alandra looked up, feeling herself shrinking. “That is what my lawyer advised me to do. When I left San Antonio after the court hearing about the will they brought from Mexico City, he told me to take my personal belongings and some cattle and leave, that I would not win my case.” And then I was kidnapped on the way home and—
“So they beat you to it?” Carson said, sounding disgusted.
“I cannot think,” Alandra said, smoothing her hair back, then leaning forward and propping her elbows on her knees. The joyful reunion she had anticipated for weeks had been snatched from her. But how? Why?
Quinn walked slowly over to Alandra as if each step cost him pain. He eased down beside her and rested a hand on her back. “There is some reason for this, some sensible reason.”
Scully plainly did not know what to say to her. He hovered near her, looking as if he wanted to hit someone, break something.
Dorritt spoke up, “We—all of us—will just go on to our ranch. I’m sure that Ash and Reva will know what happened here.”
“No,” Alandra said. “No.” She could feel the others waiting for her to go on. But she could not put what she was feeling into words, except no.
“Lonnie,” Carson coaxed in a soft tone, “you can’t stay here. There’s no furniture, no food—”
“I am not leaving this hacienda.” She jumped to her feet and turned her back to them. “I am not leaving my home.”
Scully walked around to face her. The concern on his face snapped her anger in two and she wilted. “Oh, very well. I know I am being foolish.” Then she straightened and turned toward them.
Her bravery and kindness of putting others first did not surprise Scully. “No, we’ll stay here for at least a few days.” He turned to Quinn. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m done in with this traveling. Why don’t you all go on home? I’ll stay here with Alandra. We need time alone anyway.” And we certainly will be alone here.
“Scully,” Alandra said, coming closer to him, “I will go with you to the Quinns. I know there is no food here—”
“I can hunt for supper. I’ve been doing that for weeks now, and we have our blanket and such. Your relatives didn’t manage to take the roof, doors, or shutters with them. We’ll be under a roof for the first time in months. You shouldn’t have to leave your home again.” Not after all you’ve been through.
“You do not mind?” she asked, gripping his arm and looking up at him almost shyly.
He patted her arm, feeling awkward with everyone watching. “We’ll be fine. And in a few days, we can go on to the Quinns’ rancho and see what they have found out.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
Before he could respond, she had turned away.
The two of them walked everyone outside. The Quinns looked like they didn’t like the idea of leaving them. They milled about for a long time talking, until they ran out of cautions and promises. Scully, with Alandra close to his side, but the two of them not touching, finally sent them off with waves and many good-byes. Then they stood in the doorway and watched their friends until they were out of sight.
Finally, Scully turned to Alandra, feeling awkward in their complete aloneness. “I’m going to ride around and just check out the area right around here.” He waved his arm in a wide circle. “And if I can bag us dinner, I will. Then I’ll put my horse in the barn and come inside. All right?”
She touched his arm. “Please do not go far.”
He didn’t like how uncertain she sounded. He put his hand over hers. It always surprised him how small her very capable hands were. “Don’t worry, I have no desire to go very far. I think we have traveled far enough, don’t you?”
“Sí. I am going to go to the kitchen and see if anything we can eat has been left there. And I may go to a few of the jacales and see if any sign remains to tell us where or why everyone has left.”
He noticed that they were both speaking in low tones, as if someone might overhear them. Or perhaps the barren state of the rancho made them cautious, as if they might wake some sleeping evil or unseen danger. “All right. I’ll be back soon. Don’t you go far.”
“I will not,” she promised him with a smile.
He noticed her lips tremble. Mounting, he rode toward the paddock and around it. When he looked back, he saw she was still standing in the doorway, watching him. He waved and then turned away. He’d make a quick survey and get back to her. He couldn’t think why all this had happened. How could he make this right for her?
Scully sat next to Alandra on the bare stone floor in the courtyard. Her nearness made it difficult for him to speak, so he had begun watching the stars appear overhead in order to avoid looking at her. He had wanted to be alone with her for months now, and here she was, so close, yet his tongue had turned to wood.
He couldn’t bring himself to speak all the words he had been saving up for her. So they sat under the overhanging roof and leaned against the adobe wall, looking at the stars and the flickering flames in the clay fireplace. He had built a small fire there in the courtyard for cooking and warmth. How should he bring up the matter of their marriage? How could he start?
For once, they weren’t hungry and exhausted from walking all day. They had eaten the few thin black-eared jackrabbits he brought back. Alandra had added to the meal from the great covered crocks of pickled peppers she had found. She’d also found some cornmeal and lard hidden or overlooked far back in the larder. So they enjoyed a decent meal.
As if leery of disturbing the deep quiet around them, they had spoken very little. This hacienda was usually full of voices and the footsteps of people coming and going. The stillness now felt uncanny, as if a plague had carried everyone else away, leaving only them.
It occurred to Scully that he should have expected something like this. But he had counted on the loyalty of Alandra’s people, her vaqueros and the families who worked in the fields. He had counted on their sheer numbers to keep Alandra’s relatives at bay. Now, looking around at the courtyard, he recalled how welcoming, how beautiful, how special it had been. And, he hoped, would be again.
The deep blue of evening turned into the black of night and covered the open sky above them. Early summer had warmed the air. And he was aware of the coming bedtime, aware that they were alone for the first time in months. There were no beds in the house, and they only had the single ragged blanket that they used while sleeping side by side for over two months. But more than that, he still did not know how to bring up the sleeping arrangements.
Then Alandra said, “Since you left for the war, we have not had a moment to speak together alone. Now I must ask you if you wish to end our marriage or not?” As she spoke, she looked down at her skirt, which she was pleating between her fingers.
Though she had broached the subject, the real matter that had to be settled between them, Scully found it hard to speak. But of course, he knew he had to answer her. He cleared his throat, said, “I want to do what you want.”
“And I want to do what you want.” She looked at him sideways with a slight smile.
“What do you want?” he asked, feeling his way forward.
She shook her head in a determined way. “No, you must tell me first. You are the one who did me the kindness of marrying me to prevent my relatives from pressuring me into marriage with my cousin. You wed me only to save my land and protect me. So you must go first. Do you wish us to remain husband and wife?”
He didn’t want to have to put his feelings into words. He didn’t think he was good at that, and this was so important. How could he make sure he said the right words? Women could be touchy about a man saying the right words about love and such. He took the coward’s way out. “Everyone considers us mar
ried. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have left us here alone.”
She shook her head at him. “This is not about what others think, Scully. You and I have lived outwardly as husband and wife since February. This is May. Except for the Quinns and Señor Veramendi and the priest in San Antonio, both of whom will probably move to Mexico now, no one else knows of our marriage. My people, wherever they have gone, would never tell anyone. You can still depart a free man and leave me with my reputation intact.”
He wished she would give him some hint of whether or not she wanted him to stay or leave. What would it feel like if she didn’t want him to stay? He hedged again. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you.”
“I do not feel pressured by you. Here there are only the two of us.” She pointed to herself and then to him. “We may speak freely, and no one else will ever know what we have said to each other. I wish to know the truth. A marriage must be built on truth and honesty, do you not think so?”
Alandra wished he would just put into words what he wanted. How hard this truth-telling was. Both of them were the kind of people who did not want to upset anyone, but now one of them had to speak up and tell the truth, whatever the result.
“Scully, you will not hurt my feelings if you tell me the truth,” she told him. “Truly you will not.” In fact, she knew she was not telling the complete truth herself. It would hurt her very much if Scully said he wished the marriage to be annulled. But if that was the truth, the words must be said, spoken aloud.
“Why can’t we just stay married then and not have to talk about it?” he asked, sounding irritated.
She leaned closer to look at him. Why was he trying to avoid her questions? She tried not to let her own irritation nip at her. From the small fire in the courtyard, the flames flickered, casting a golden glow and moving shadows over his features. He was staring intensely into the fire, but then he looked at her sideways. There was longing in his expression.
So that was it. If she had not been raised with Quinn as an uncle, she would have misunderstood the reason Scully was evading her questions. He was an Anglo man, and they did not want to talk about feelings. They just wanted to do, not talk. “Does that mean that you wish to stay married to me, Scully?”
“Yes.”
Just yes and no more. She smiled to herself. But tonight she knew they had to be sure of this, because marriage was for life, and it affected generations to come. She rested a hand on the adobe wall between them. “Scully, I never knew my parents. My father died before I was born and my mother a few months after. But their love endures in these walls. My brother used to tell me about my parents. How they fell in love and how they defied his family and married and left Mexico City to start a fresh life here.”
With the back of her hand, she stroked the cool rough wall again. “My brother always said that their love built this house. He taught me that I must never marry just to make a good match, that I must marry a good, honest man because I love him.”
Scully was looking into her eyes now. She moved to kneel beside him and sat back on her heels. He appeared surprised. “Scully, you are a good, honest man. You are also brave and loyal. Why would you think I would not want to stay married to you?”
“You’re the one with the land.”
She had expected that to be the sticking point. “Ah, that is true. I am the one with the land, or maybe I do not have the land. If I do not own this land anymore, this hacienda, will you leave me then?”
“Of course, not,” he said hotly, flushing.
“So you have not married me for the land or for this beautiful hacienda?” She smiled so he would know that she was just teasing him. “Scully James Falconer, you are a good honest man. And I do want to stay married to you. But only if you love me. This house was built by love and to be home to a husband and wife who love each other. Do you love me?”
Twenty
Scully knew he had to be a man and pluck up the courage to say it out loud. To do less would show a lack of respect for her. He drew up his resolve and said, “Alandra Sandoval, you are a good honest woman. And I do want to stay married to you. But only if you love me.”
“Then you do love me,” she said, moving nearer.
He nodded, trying to look away, but finding himself unable to take his eyes from her.
“And I love you.” Close now, she lay her hand on his cheek where the new scar shone red. “When did you know you loved me, querido?”
He wished she would stop talking. He wanted to pull her close and kiss her. But he sensed that this was an important time for her, for them.
He cleared his throat again. “When Carson caught up with us and told us you’d been kidnapped and were probably in Matagorda. I had never felt such a…consuming anger. I burned with it. I wished I could have flown to you. And beat down, bloodied, everyone who had frightened you, who had hurt you.”
At his mention of being kidnapped, she lowered her eyes. Her hand on the deep groove of his scar, she knew that being carried off by the bandidos had left a scar upon her, upon her spirit too. She fought the fear that spurted inside her, and with it, the urge to run away. But she stayed where she was, her pulse racing.
He moved onto his knees and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have spared you that. I wanted to kill that Mendoza for putting you through it.”
She gave a tiny dry laugh. “His companeros did that for you.” She let him draw her to sit across his lap as he settled back, leaning against the adobe wall. He stroked stray hair back from her face. She rested her head on his substantial shoulder.
“When did you know you loved me?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
“When I was kidnapped, I prayed that you would find me. Not Quinn or Carson, though they are as close as family. You were the first one who came to my mind. I knew you would never stop looking for me. But when I was carried down into the hold of that awful ship…” The cold fingers of memory stroked her, and she shivered. She put her arms around him.
He hugged her close. “No one will ever do that to you again.”
She lifted her head and kissed his face. Then she placed small kisses along the line of his scar.
“Don’t do that. You’re a lady. You shouldn’t even have to look at something so ugly.”
She looked into his green eyes. “The only lady I ever wished to be like was Tía Dorritt.”
“She is a fine lady,” Scully agreed. Her nearness stirred him more and more.
“But some people still judge her because she married a man whose mother was Cherokee. She is known in San Antonio as the New Orleans lady who married the half-breed. When I hear people say that, I want to slap them.”
“I know what you mean. They make her sound like she’s someone odd, out of the ordinary.” He brought her against him.
“Yes, she is extraordinary because she does not see people as others see them.” Alandra looked down. “I did not tell you, but I witnessed Santa Anna surrender to Sam Houston.”
“You did?” Scully’s eyes widened.
“It was a moment of history for Texas. And it also taught me something of the utmost importance. It taught me that though I was the doña of Rancho Sandoval, that did not entitle me to a life above the lives of others, did not entitle me to a life without sorrow or suffering or consequences.”
It was something Scully had always known, and that she’d just discovered it surprised him. “That’s right,” he murmured.
She smiled and fingered the waves in his hair above his ear, sending shivers through him. “Yes, you know that.” She pursed her lips, the lips he wanted to kiss so much. “Santa Anna was not content to be just a man. He wanted to be the lord of all Mexico, and especially of Texas. And even in defeat he would not admit that he was to blame for the slaughter you witnessed at Goliad and the one at the Alamo. He quoted some military text in his defense. I could see that Sam Houston despised him for this. I also despised him. His arrogance had unleashed death and misery on thousands.”
>
“As you recall, I didn’t think much of el presidente myself.” He grinned ruefully.
She beamed at him. “I remember. You did everything but challenge him to a duel.” Then she waggled her left hand. “See, no one could pry your ring from my finger. So we must stay married.” She chuckled.
He touched her nose with his index finger.
She laughed out loud. “Mi esposo fuerte y valiente. My strong valiant husband. I do love you so. Estoy enamorada de ti.”
“Is that how you say it in Spanish?”
She nodded.
“Estoy enamorado de ti,” he whispered into her ear. “Can we stop talking now?” And start the loving?
There was much she still wanted to share with him. She had plans for the future, but perhaps she would never be able to put those plans into action. Perhaps she had lost Rancho Sandoval and her people.
But she had learned that she could be content in whatever circumstances she found herself. And the circumstance of finally being alone here with the man she loved and who was her husband was the best she could imagine. “Sí.”
She leaned toward Scully’s mouth and began a soft kiss there. He made a low sound in his throat, and it made her smile. He pulled her tight against him and she reveled in the strength of him, his resilience. Just weeks ago he had been weak and feverish. Now he was himself, again strong and powerful.
The delicious first kiss finally ended and the next began. Scully found it hard to catch his breath. She was so beautiful, so soft. And she was his. After all the nights she had lain in his arms, his waiting, his longing, for his bride was over. “How do you say ‘wife’ in Spanish again?” In fact he knew it, but wanted to hear her say the word.
She paused and, nose-to-nose, looked him in the eye. “Esposa.”
Her warm breath fluttered against his face. He grinned and said, “Mi esposa fuerte y valiente.”
