by Jenna Kernan
“I agree. So maybe what I say is true.”
Vallejo rested his knuckles on the desk as he leaned over the surface. “Take your shirt off.”
Jake laid his powder horn on the desk and removed his belt. The General poured some of the contents from his horn onto his palm as Jake pulled the buckskin over his head. The corporal retrieved the garment and handed it to the general who searched the hide while the corporal swept a hand down Jake’s legs, then stepped away.
“Your shoes,” said the general.
Jake tugged off his moccasins and the sergeant pulled them inside out before tossing them back.
The general paced behind his desk, his agitation clear.
“Gather your things.”
When Jake finished collecting himself, Vallejo smiled and glanced out the window. Jake noted the soldiers were missing. His teeth clenched as he considered where they might be. “Follow me, Señor Turner.”
On the front porch lay all his belongings neatly displayed as if for sale. Jake’s gaze raked the wooden slats noting his saddle, blanket, Emma’s clothing, their bedding, her firearms and his. His gaze locked on his rifle, noting the secret compartment open. They had found his sexton and map, then. He glanced about. It was a moment before he realized the incriminating items were not in view. Confiscated already and he had not even managed to get a copy to the American sea captain. He had failed. The Mexicans’ hospitality and lax defense had lulled him into a false sense of security. His mistake would cost his life. A fair exchange for his folly.
But what of Emma?
He needed to protect her. In that instant he knew he would do anything, including jeopardize his mission, in order to save this woman’s life.
Chapter Seventeen
Jake had underestimated his foe. He saw that now. Just because they lacked militia and arms, just because the friars and merchants of California accepted him at his word did not mean they were stupid.
He would have done the same in Vallejo’s position. No, he would have taken him into immediate custody as a precaution.
Jake stared at Emma, who sat with a fixed rigidity radiating tension. Her face now a mask of alert caution, she said not a word, but seemed to be desperate to speak to him with her eyes. He noted the rapid breathing as she perched on the wooden chair, her army-blue skirt draping the porch like a rolling wave.
Francisca stood beside her, a scowl upon her forehead. John grasped his wife’s hand and gave it a reassuring pat. Jake’s instinct was to move to Emma and stand between her and the danger these men presented. But he held himself in check. Four men and the general—he was outmanned.
Vallejo now inspected their belongings, his boot heels striking the hollow wooden decking with an echoing thud.
He paused at Jake’s rifle, then stooped and lifted the gun noting the open chamber in the hollow stock. He seemed unable to contain his glee as the corners of his mustache lifted.
“What was in this compartment?” he asked his underling.
Jake’s stomach squeezed the contents of Francisca’s excellent lunch and his skin grew damp. It would be only a moment now and they’d have him. Duchess, where was his horse? It didn’t matter. He could not run, not with Emma sitting there before him on the porch.
The man snapped a salute and then pointed to the leather bag. Jake’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
The general lifted the pouch and peered inside. Then he up-ended the contents. Round lead balls struck the wooden planks like hailstones. Jake flashed Emma a look, but she remained rigid, staring at the general.
“What is this?” Vallejo scowled at Jake.
“Extra ammunition,” he said, wondering if the ice in his gut would ever thaw.
“Why is it hidden?”
“Your men found it all right.”
Vallejo threw the pouch against the wall and frowned as he lifted the red ribbon.
“Trade goods,” said Jake. “So are the knife blades, awls, buttons and beads.”
He lifted the lion skin cloak and thrust a finger through the bullet hole in the side. “A good shot, Señora Martin. Where did a missionary learn to shoot like a soldier?”
Jake turned to Emma, who did not answer. “She does not speak Spanish.”
“Yes, I know. Doña Price has been kind enough to help me translate. Let me try in English then.” He smiled at Emma and Jake’s skin crawled. “Mrs. Martin, you learned to shoot where?”
Emma kept her gaze on the general. “I followed my husband’s instructions. He thought it necessary that I learn to defend myself.”
“Ah, of course. This gun, it is not the same as the party of Captain Smith. You purchased it where?”
“I did not purchase it. My husband did and, as you know, he is not here to answer your questions.” Tears welled and Jake felt a mix of admiration and unease at her performance.
Francisca released her husband’s hand and faced the general. Her feminine attire did not completely diffuse the authority of her carriage.
“General Vallejo, we have done as you asked. Please complete your search. I am embarrassed to display my guests’ belongings as if it were market day.”
The general’s mustache twitched as he faced the wealthy daughter of a powerful landowner.
“Don Price, I can deny your wife nothing. Just indulge me for a few more moments.” Like a swooping hawk, he studied the items before him. He lifted the saddle. Jake’s mouth went dry. Somewhere beneath the general’s left hand lay the journal.
The general dropped the saddle on its spine and shoved it with his boot, then turned to the next item.
Jake found his breath again as Vallejo turned to Emma’s things; his fingers brushing the lace on the hem of her bloomers.
Jake felt a shot of anger. Like whiskey in his blood, it made him rash. He took a step forward, finding his hand on the man’s arm.
Vallejo smiled. “I would be careful, if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me and I’d take my hand off Señora Martin’s undergarments before I found myself lying on my back in the street.”
Vallejo released the fabric. “So angry, almost as if she was your wife instead of a duty you have struggled to discharge.”
Jake stepped away and let the general finish his search. When the man reached the end of the porch, he masked his disappointment poorly.
“This is all?” he asked the closest man.
“Yes, General.”
“Are you certain?”
“We carried out all the things in the house then went to the barn for the rest.”
“Did anyone stay with these things when you went to search the barn?”
The man blanched. “You were with Señor Turner, sir.”
Vallejo spun about pinning Emma with the gaze of a predator. Jake understood in that instant that Emma hid his sextant and map. Vallejo knew, or at least suspected, as well.
Before Jake could intercept him, Doña Francisca stepped forward. “We have been very cooperative, General. I waited with Señora Martin while your men searched both my house and my outbuildings. Now, I think it is time for supper. Will you be joining us?”
Jake could have kissed her. He did not know why she stood between Emma and harm’s way, but he was grateful.
The General stopped glowering first at his men and then at Emma. Finally, he bowed to Doña Francisca.
“I am sorry to inconvenience you. I will call again when the governor-general sends word.” Then he descended the steps to the street and cuffed the nearest man in the head with his open hand. “Idiots,” he muttered.
Jake hung on to a thick whitewashed post and watched the general mount up. Soon they were gone. Jake’s shoulders drooped. He turned to Emma, finding her resting her head in her hands.
Doña Francisca already had her maids gathering up their belongings and setting things to right. She ushered her servants into the house, leaving Emma with the men. Captain Billings lifted his cap, holding it between a thumb and forefinger as he scratched with
the other three.
“The man definitely has it in for you, Turner. Thinks you’re a bloody spy.”
“Because he came over the mountains. Until Captain Smith showed up, they thought the mountains impenetrable,” said Price.
“Now you arrive and with a woman. Makes it seem anyone with a horse can make the journey,” added Captain Billings.
Jake decided to feign ignorance. “So I’m a threat?”
“But not a spy,” said Billings.
Jake said nothing and the captain lifted his eyebrows until they quite disappeared under his cap.
“Great blue blazes, you aren’t, are you?”
“I am a guide, hired by the Martin party.” Jake watched relief cross John Price’s features, but the captain seemed less inclined to take things at face value.
The captain folded his hands behind him and gazed out at the dusty street. “What if you weren’t?”
Jake said nothing, but his gaze flicked to Price, judging his serious expression as he rubbed his chin.
The captain continued. “In that case I would remind you that I have been away from America for nearly nine years, but I am still a loyal citizen. My allegiance lies with Old Glory. But I would not favor jeopardizing my harbor privileges.”
Jake nodded. “I understand, Captain Billings, and I greatly look forward to our dinner onboard ship.”
The captain nodded. “You might like to know that Mr. Price and I have long considered this territory underutilized. I’d say between the two of us, we have seen most of California, I, by sea, and my friend here, by land. Isn’t that right, John?”
Price nodded, his expression still etched with worry.
“That sort of information could be very useful in the right hands. What do you say, John?”
Price sighed. “I say I would not endanger my family.”
Jake understood. The man was a Mexican citizen.
“But I would favor living beneath an American flag,” Price said.
Jake’s head snapped up and his gaze shot from one man to the next. They offered support before he even asked. His confidence returned. He was not alone.
“I’m off,” said the captain. “Matters on ship and all. I will see you both tomorrow.”
“Won’t you stay for dinner?” asked Price.
“Another time. Please give your wife my regrets.”
The captain shook Price’s hand and then Jake’s. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Jake watched him steer down the center of the street on sturdy legs.
Francisca returned and called her husband inside. Price followed her without hesitation, leaving Jake alone with Emma.
He sank on his knees before her and took her face in his hands. “How did you do it?”
Her red lips invited, but he held himself in check. Somehow she had saved him and the mission.
“Where is my sextant, the map?”
His fingers burned against her pale, cool skin. He felt her trembling begin, like a bowstring after the arrow is well away.
She leaned forward and he released her with reluctance. She grasped the hem of her skirts and lifted, revealing her moccasins. His sextant lay protected between her bare ankles, beneath the instrument rested the map.
“He caught me with the sketchbook, before I could hide the thing.”
Jake threw his head back and laughed, then he pulled her up out of the chair and into his arms.
“You are the most wonderful woman in the world.” He lowered her, letting her body slide against his. The relief of an instant before ignited into a bonfire. He wrapped his arms about her and determined to kiss her soundly.
He did not expect his advances to be greeted with such ardor. In an instant he whisked her across the porch and pressed her to the wall. She gripped his neck fiercely as she drew him to her.
It was the ringing of church bells that finally broke into his awareness. He pulled away, blinking down at Emma, who panted, openmouthed. He dipped to taste her again, but she turned away and he was met with the soft skin of her cheek.
Broad daylight. His surroundings rushed back. She’s a widow and he, her guide. He glanced back, embarrassed to see the map and sextant lying in plain view.
Jake released her and stepped away.
“I’m sorry,” he offered.
She said nothing, but turned to retrieve his treasures.
“How did you do it?”
“One of the men tossed your rifle to a second and there was a rattle. The soldier held the stock up to his ear and shook your gun. Before he could investigate, the officer called them to the barn. I waited until they rounded the house and then I retrieved it.”
“Didn’t Francisca see you?”
“She did. It was her idea to put it under my skirts.”
Jake absorbed the surprise of this. “Why did she do it?”
“I don’t know. She just joined in.”
“And you switched the lead balls into the stock?”
She nodded.
“Damn clever.”
“The men came back in a big hurry, ignored your saddle and went right to the rifle. The soldier must have told them about the noise. It took time to release the mechanism.”
“And all they found was lead.” He laughed. “I have to find a new place to hide these.” He slipped his map and sextant into his moccasin.
“I could make a pocket in my petticoat.”
That would keep the thing out of sight, but if they searched her person as they had his, she could not deny involvement.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“If they find it, they will hang you beside me.”
“I know the importance of this. I can be as brave as you. Let me help you.”
He paused as his mind and heart battled. She proved trustworthy over and over. She was resourceful, smart and an actress of the first caliber. But she was a woman, fickle and unreliable.
“I can do it,” she urged.
He met her beseeching gaze and nodded. She could. She would. “All right.”
She sighed and placed a hand over his heart. “Thank you.”
“How long did the general question you?”
“Seemed like hours.”
“What did he ask and what did you tell him? I have to know exactly.”
“I told him what we agreed upon.”
“What about details?”
“He asked me to describe John Martin. I did.”
“Tell me what you said, so my description matches yours.”
“I described you.”
He straightened. “I thought you said he was your first love?”
“I made that up to make you jealous.”
“What?”
Her complexion brightened to an alluring shade of pink. Her ploy had worked, too, as he recalled. News of her involvement with the fictitious Mr. Martin irritated him as much as sand in his eye.
“I can’t tell when you’re telling the truth any better than General Vallejo.”
“He asked me about the attack, what direction did they come from, what were they wearing, what color were their horses, how did they wear their hair.”
Jake’s stomach knotted and reknotted at this. “What did you say?”
“I told him I was too distraught to notice such trivialities and I refused to relive my husband’s death for his benefit.”
Jake gave a low whistle. “Bet he didn’t like that.”
“Not a bit. He pressed me, so I cried.”
“Women usually do.”
She dug a fist into her hip. “What would you suggest?”
He knew a kettle when it was about to boil over. He chose to remove it from the heat.
“I’m proud of you. You thought quickly and pulled my fat from the fire. I’m indebted to you.”
The fist remained planted. “I don’t want you indebted.”
“What do you want?”
She continued to stare until he needed to resist the urge to shift beneath her regard. T
hose damn smoky eyes again.
“I’d like you to treat me with a little respect and allow that a woman handles problems differently than a man. That doesn’t make it wrong.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She rounded on him, finger aimed like a pistol at his chest. “Oh, yes, you do. You lie to the general and it is clever. I lie and it’s deceitful. You are a hypocrite.”
That brought him up short. He gritted his teeth and stared at the mouth now pinched and realized that only a moment before the tender flesh yielded to him. Not now. Now she looked capable of pressing grapes between them.
“I am not a hypocrite. I just don’t think using tears is fair.”
“Oh, you don’t.”
He shook his head and watched her lower lip thrust forward as she prepared for battle.
“And just how do suggest I fight a man, with my fists? Perhaps I should wrestle you. Would that be fair? I know, let’s have a footrace, me in my skirt and three petticoats and you in your breeches.”
“What are you blathering about?”
“I’m trying to come to terms with what weapons a woman, who is smaller, weaker and legally dependent upon a man, has in her arsenal. I’d say tears are a poor substitute for all the advantages you enjoy.”
He frowned at her, but could find no retort.
“I won’t be manipulated that way.”
“Did it ever enter your mind that a woman might not be dead set on entrapping you, but only trying to live with you peacefully without being crushed beneath your boot heels? I am tired of being cast as the sly fox and you as the hapless hare, when the truth is you call all the shots, you make all the decisions and you do most of the lying.”
He gaped at her as she leaned toward him.
“You should try a step or two in my shoes and see how you like it.”
He’d never considered any of those things and the truth of her words lifted his defenses. “Just don’t try tears on me.”
“I won’t waste the water.”
She turned away, but he snatched up her arm and spun her against him.
“I’m not through yet.”
“Well then I suppose I’m not, either, since you have me captured. Perhaps I should cry on you. The water might work like scissors worked for Delilah.”
He found his grip relaxing as the truth of her accusations sank in. He could hold her for as long as he liked and she could do nothing about it. He could take advantage of her person whenever he chose and she could not avoid him.
