“Tillie,” Origin said excitedly, being at ease now, “let’s ride to the top of the knoll so we can see them coming.”
That was a splendid idea, so they ran to the corral and quickly saddled their horses. Spurring their mounts, they galloped around two sides of the plaza, skirting Akers as he raced the opposite direction.
“How far are they?” Tallulah shouted.
“Maybe two cables!”
Indeed, by the time Tallulah and Origin reached the rise of the knoll, the detachment was about one cable away, and they waited giddily.
“We are here at the dawn of a new civilization,” Origin intoned pompously.
But Tallulah had to agree. She was quite getting carried away with the glamor and triumph of the day. She hadn’t seen her men in two weeks and was aching for them. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she soon picked Milo out by his red jacket. And that must be Reynaldo riding abreast of him, wearing a hat so dark with grease it looked like obsidian. The men did look bedraggled, but that was to be expected.
“They will need a good bath and a shave.”
Origin frowned. “Do not bother them with hell-fired trivial frippery, woman! They are big chess pieces in this grand, earth-shaking game of history we are making here today! Allow them to go to the plaza and participate with Frémont in raising the new flag of the great United States, of which California is now one!”
Tallulah sighed. Origin was right, although a bit grandiose.
Milo and Reynaldo spurred their mounts when they caught sight of Tallulah. No one shouted them back into line, and they galloped up the knoll.
“My sweet,” said Milo, looking very rough and worse for the wear but otherwise in one piece. They were only able to lean close and hold hands. “How I have longed for you.” His voice did sound ragged, as though he’d been yelling, or crying, or both. In just two short weeks his pristine red jacket had become drab with dust and soil, some smudges and tears indicating he’d been in more than a couple of fights. She almost liked the unshaven, weary look, but she also couldn’t wait to scrape off the layer of dust and find the handsome devil underneath all that scruff.
Origin blurted, “Polk declared war. Back in May.”
There was a brief silence. Tallulah scanned the men’s faces for a reaction. Milo had a frightening blank look, and Reynaldo looked about to vomit. Finally it was Reynaldo who said, “It was nice of them to tell us.”
Snapping into action, Milo smiled at Tallulah. “I’ll meet you in the plaza.” He galloped down the rise before she had a chance to respond.
Openmouthed, she gestured at Reynaldo. “What’s…”
“Maybe he had to go to the bathroom,” Origin piped up.
Reynaldo soothed her. “He has an urgent mission down at Casa Grande. I imagine Vallejo and the others will be released?”
They wheeled their horses and started down the rise, too. Milo was already a speck against the scattering of adobe buildings.
“Yes,” said Tallulah. “Vallejo has contracted malaria at Sutter’s Fort. He has to sign an agreement to remain neutral for the rest of the war or he won’t be released.”
“Good,” said Reynaldo. “I wish to discuss some property with him.”
“I’ll bet,” said Origin, “that you can do a much better job than Leese on those vineyards.”
Reynaldo said, “I’ve already sent a letter to my brother in Massachusetts asking him to send some cuttings from the Madeira vines.”
“So you really are staying.” Warmth surged through Tallulah’s breast to think of having Reynaldo around for years to come. She had been bitter and angry against the tradition of marriage for so long, but there really were some good aspects to it. The companionship and security. The ability to have sex at will in a comforting relationship, particularly if one trusted the man not to stray.
She trusted Reynaldo. His inexperience with women stood him in good stead, and she believed he was enamored of her. If not just for her, Reynaldo would remain faithfully addicted to his partner Milo. His love for Milo bordered on worship.
“I’m staying,” Reynaldo confirmed. “I’ve already told Frémont I’m not continuing with him to San Diego. He wants me to continue to map this area as long as I’m staying here.”
“Making wine,” Origin reminded Reynaldo. “I would be overjoyed to assist you with the winemaking, considering my past experience.”
Tallulah said, “I thought you only had experience in tasting it.” There was no possibility she could spare Origin from the Blue Wing.
But Reynaldo said, “That would be helpful, Origin. Tillie, you need at least one new assistant. Is there no one suitable? Some Spaniards can be quite helpful.”
“I will have to think. I have a backwoods Pike County man guarding my bar right now. He’s not bad, and he certainly scares away any potential mashers. But Origin, don’t leave me in the lurch.”
Origin saluted. “I will be lurch-free, my dear.”
By now they were nearing the plaza. They corralled their horses before venturing forth, and many of the California Battalion men who hadn’t gone to Olompali congratulated Reynaldo on the victory. Nothing of note had happened since they’d been gone—in fact, the mad barber Garcia had been rumored to have gone south, or wherever the bandit Joaquin Murietta was. Garcia had certainly not been in town cutting anyone’s hair, that was for sure.
Tallulah didn’t want to ask about Milo, what his plans were. She was happy for the moment and would let Milo disappoint her after she’d been allowed to be happy for an hour or so.
The congratulatory crowd swept them toward the flagpole, and Reynaldo found a wooden box for her to stand upon. She touched his shoulder to balance herself, and she now saw that Milo stood by the flagpole alongside the dashing Frémont, a serious Kit Carson, Revere, and “Fighting” Ford. Frémont and Milo were deep in conversation while the other two tugged on their lapels and puffed their chests. Milo held the folded American flag, and Frémont spoke urgently in his ear.
“Do you know what Frémont is saying?”
“No idea,” said Reynaldo. “I know that Milo refuses to go garrison San Diego, though. He’s not an army man—never has been.”
Well nigh three hundred citizens and battalion men must’ve been crowding the plaza by the time Frémont began to speak. Men hung from the second-story balconies of Casa Grande, Leese’s house, the barracks, and stores. Rowdy pioneers, ripe with forty-rod and liberty, stomped on the one-story roof of Tallulah’s Blue Wing. Through a cupped hand, Frémont bellowed some nationalistic blather about Manifest Destiny and the bear flag.
“President Polk sent me forward not to idolize the setting sun over the Pacific but to say that today, Washington lays down her first most beloved candidate for new mayor of Sonoma. For we don’t say alcalde any longer—”
This sentiment brought forth a wave of cheers that swept the plaza and echoed in the sun-baked hills. Tallulah’s ears actually hurt from the enthusiastic roar, and she realized that she roared just as loud as Origin. Alcalde was Spanish for “mayor,” and they were done with Spanish ways!
Frémont continued bellowing over the cheers. “With some eager heartbeats, some trembling in the veins, the name of Milo Stephens will not suffer! He was the first pioneer to rear up on his hind legs against the injustices of the oppressive rule—”
Tallulah didn’t hear much else of the Pathfinder’s speech. Milo as mayor? She tried to read Milo’s face, but he was unreadable and stoic. He had obviously agreed to this or he would not be standing right next to Frémont, holding a flag. Her head throbbed with the roars of the men around her, as they apparently enthusiastically endorsed Frémont’s choice for mayor.
“We have followed his progress with our eyes, and we have solid faith in his ability!” Frémont shouted. “When the presidents are forgotten, the state of California will remember Milo Stephens, the leader of the Bear Flag Revolt that paved our American path to freedom!”
Mercifully, that seemed to be the e
nd to his speechifying, for he stepped back and helped Milo unfold the flag. Tallulah worried about the state of her bodega, even with that buffalo “Missouri mobber” keeping watch over things. Perhaps she could get assistance from those beefy fellows, Maliano and Duell, who Milo seemed to use for anything that involved force. Maybe they would stay on in Sonoma, too, and help keep order at the Blue Wing.
The crowd settled down when Cuffy the grizzly came down the flagpole. It was a somber moment, and Tallulah felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. It was quite embarrassing, but when Origin took the coyote cap off his head and saluted the flagpole, she had to wipe a tear away with the back of her hand, hoping no one noticed.
Milo tied the new flag onto the halyard but let Frémont and “Fighting” Ford run it up. Origin was among about a hundred now saluting the new flag, and it was Milo’s turn to speechify.
“I solemnly declare my object to be to invite all peaceable and good citizens of California who are friendly to help us establish good order and equal rights,” he shouted, quoting his manifesto. “Come to Sonoma without delay! Assist us in establishing a republican government, which shall give to all civil and religious liberty. Which shall detect and punish crime and encourage industry, virtue, and literature, unshackled by the fetters of commerce and agriculture.”
Tallulah bent at the knees and said in Reynaldo’s ear, “He looks exhausted. I hope he can give up his political career for one night and let me care for you both.”
Reynaldo cast her a sideways look full of warmth and ardor. “I’m sure he can submit to that.”
Milo didn’t salute but looked out idealistically at the crowd of spitting, guzzling, murmuring heads. “I declare that a government to be prosperous must be united with happy, friendly people. Its citizens are guardians, its officers are its servants, and its glory is their reward. Long live America!”
That seemed to be the end of it, for many men whooped and even threw their hats in the air. One roostered fellow, dangling from the second-story barracks balcony, fell atop three other spectators, knocking them like tenpins. This knot of “happy, friendly people” turned into a ball of brawlers, and Reynaldo enwrapped Tallulah’s waist in his strong arm, lifting her into the air.
He set her down but didn’t release her from his protective arm. “I think Milo needs to talk to you,” he said and shoved his way toward the flagpole. “Frémont wants to move out of town post haste. There was an incident down at the Mission San Rafael that will come to light sooner rather than later. The elder Berryessa was murdered along with the DeHaro twins, and I just saw some roughneck wearing Berryessa’s serape.”
Tallulah gasped. “Berryessa the younger was released this morning. We decided he had nothing to do with the Fowler and Cowie…incident.” She had no delusion that this frontier town full of hard cases would suddenly become an orderly place of model citizens. Quite the opposite, probably, with the influx of new Americans, now that it was a safe place to be. She doubted Milo believed that, too. He was probably just saying that to cheer people up.
She nearly slammed into Milo, propelled forward by the force of the crowd. And Milo was apparently swimming through the sea of men, trying to find her. He embraced her fully, in the open like that, pressing his lips to the side of her neck until hot tears did drip, soaked up by Milo’s new, short beard.
“My sweet,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m staying in Sonoma. Grigsby has agreed to take stewardship of my land upriver.”
“Mind? Why would I mind? This is the happiest news in years,” Tallulah whispered back. Then she feared she was squeezing the life from him, and he smelled as though he could use a turn in Vallejo’s bathtub, so she released him and steered him toward the Casa Grande gates. She saw he had the Cuffy flag tucked under his arm. “Where will you live, though? I don’t think the Comandante will welcome you into his home once he returns.”
“Nor would I want to be allowed in,” said Milo. “We did him an unkind but necessary turn, taking him prisoner. I am only hoping he’ll sell me some of his land. I’ll build a new house somewhere up north, up Spain Street.”
“So our new mayor is the servant of the people,” Tallulah teased as Milo shoved her through the heavy gate. Men pushed on it from the other side, trying to get into the plaza, and men pushed against them, trying to gain the courtyard. “I like the sound of that.”
Milo was squashed pleasantly against her, and he murmured in her ear, “I am your obedient servant, my love.”
Tallulah nearly swooned with his words feathering her ear. Gooseflesh stiffened her nipples against her soft camisa, and she wanted to be away from this crowd of men. When Milo licked the side of her neck and took a soft bite from it, a trickle of pussy juice ran down her inner thigh. She might have strength to fight a few of these bruisers off…
But suddenly they popped free of the crush of smelly pioneers, and Milo urged her toward the pantry door of Casa Grande.
Once he’d slammed and bolted the heavy wooden door, the thick adobe walls kept out most noise. It was as though they’d entered a chapel. Milo pressed her against a wooden countertop smoothed with years of carving, pounding, and chopping for the outdoor cook ovens. Tossing the flag onto the counter, he lifted her and placed her there, spreading her knees apart with his hips. She was in such heaven to be this close to him again, even if the dust of two weeks of trail sweat emanated from his person and his spiky new beard scratched her face.
“I wish to shave this growth from your—” she started to say, but he silenced her with a kiss.
His tongue was hot, hours spent in the blazing sun wearing that military jacket then orating before the crowd. Tallulah licked some moisture into it, twining her tongue around his. Beneath the layer of wood smoke, sand, and horseback-riding grit that accompanied all soldiers, she smelled the warm leather scent of him. She knew that all the regular Vallejo household staff had access to this room, but now she pulled him closer, feasting on his soft, pliant mouth.
She wrapped her legs around him to encourage him, twining her ankles together at the backs of his thighs. Oh, dear Lord. I’m kissing the mayor. This gave her pause for thought, and Milo must’ve sensed it, for he broke away panting, the tip of his nose touching hers.
“I can’t make love now,” he breathed, “for you tempt me too much, and Frémont needs me.”
“No, stay,” she whined.
“There’s some danger afoot. He wants to get back on the road where he’ll be safer from reprisals.”
“Yes, Reynaldo told me about Berryessa. But you can take half an hour to bathe. There is a photography enthusiast in town who told me he’d like to arrange all of you for a photograph.”
“No,” he sighed. He kissed her one more time, almost chastely on her lips. He was trembling all over, whether from overheat or fever, Tallulah didn’t know, but it touched her. He was a mountain man, a farmer, surely he’d been overheated before. It occurred to her he might tremble from passion, and she grasped his lapels to keep him close to her. Still, he whispered, “I must go. There’s a lot to do. Soldiers robbed the bodies of Berryessa and the DeHaro brothers, in general just a bunch of hellish moves on our part, and I heard that this morning Lansford Hastings let the younger Berryessa go from the calabozo here. Listen,” he said swiftly, putting two fingers against her lips to quiet her.
His other hand fumbled in an inner coat pocket. She yanked him closer to her, pleased to feel the bulge in his trousers. So it wasn’t that he didn’t desire her. That would have been impossible to bear. Tallulah was still accustomed to being able to only manipulate men with her sexual wiles. It would take a lot of getting used to, believing that Milo liked her for reasons other than her bursting breasts or perfumed pussy.
He loves me… He had told her that before, and as though reading her mind, he told her again now. “I love you, Tallulah Crabtree. I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to let you slip away, let one of these boorish pendejos get their paws on you. Here.” He presse
d a little leather pouch at her. “Here. I hope you accept this, Tallulah. Tillie,” he added, as though trying to get used to the name.
Inside the pouch was an emerald ring, the center cabochon framed by smaller mounted diamonds. That must have been his “urgent mission” when he had galloped on ahead of them. “Milo,” she said in awe, “is this supposed to mean—”
He interrupted. “That I wish to marry you, yes.” As though in a rush to go do something else!
This was the damndest proposal she’d ever heard—and she’d heard some whoppers since coming to California—but this one topped all. Tallulah chose to laugh, although not in a demeaning way, for Milo was actually quite sensitive underneath his brutal shell. “You dear sweet man,” she said softly, because she instantly saw the flinch of hurt in his eyes when she laughed.
He gripped her upper arms. “Well?” His eyes frantically searched hers. “What do you say? What’s your response?”
She knew it was heartless to torture him any longer. She had the power to affect and touch this untamed, ferocious man, and she shouldn’t misuse it. “Yes,” she whispered and tried the ring on. It was too small for her ring finger—she assumed it had been his wife’s, which touched her even more profoundly—so she put it on her pinkie finger. She knew a fellow up at the quicksilver mines who was proficient in making jewelry. He could make it bigger.
Milo exhaled heavily. “Dzięki Bogu,” he whispered with eyes squeezed shut, which was probably Polish for “thank God.”
She stroked his cheekbone with the back of her fingers. “You were worried I’d say no?”
“Well, of course!” Milo said with relief. “You don’t have a big history of trusting men, or accepting love from them.”
“I could say the same about you, love. Maybe you should not rush into things, seeing as how I am the first woman you’ve trucked with since your wife’s death.”
How she adored it when he smiled! “No. No. I know what I’m doing.” He said this gently, but he frowned in a mocking way then. “And stop questioning me! Do you doubt the mayor?”
The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 16
