by Jenna Kernan
“Is this how your father treats you?”
“Multiply this by a thousand and you still will fall short.”
His hands fell away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, it is too late to prevent that. I believe I saved your sextant from confiscation. But you still don’t condone my crying for the general. Is that about it?”
His head sank. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Stay away from me.”
She spun so quickly, her skirt flared out behind as she stormed away. He let her go, knowing he could retrieve her whenever he wanted and suddenly feeling quite disgusted by the fact.
Chapter Eighteen
The morning of the feast, Emma put aside her annoyance long enough to walk with Jake to the barn on the pretense of checking the horses. The silence stretched as they entered the stuffy barn.
He knew she still smarted from their discussion yesterday. The entire conversation sat in his stomach like old cheese.
“Emma, I regret my harsh words. I want to thank you for all you’ve done. I’ll not make excuses, but I’d like to say that I’ve never met a woman like you. All the others, they were tricksters, so I’m naturally suspicious.”
“Rather a blessing in your chosen profession.” Her tone held none of its usual warmth.
“Do you forgive me?” He found himself holding his breath waiting for the opinion of a woman and the fact astounded him.
“Apologies are less appealing than actions. A change in your attitude would go a long way toward a change in mine.”
What did that mean? “So will you forgive me?”
“I will, if you cease to treat me as if I were contagious.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
She turned to go and he flanked her, not ready to leave her yet, but unwilling to restrain her. He reached out with his voice.
“Francisca told me there will be horse races.”
“Bearbaiting, too. If the bear wins they cook the steer,” she observed.
“I’m not anxious to see that. Grizzlies deserve more respect.”
“What about the cockfights?”
“I don’t have much regard for chickens. Stupidest animal and dirtier than pigs.”
“I understand they have wild horses and some of the younger men will try to ride them. It’s called a rodeo.”
Emma led him to the horses as she led the conversation. Another trick women used. When they reached Duchess, he paused and she drew to a stop. He turned to the matter that required privacy.
He patted the pouch he’d constructed to hide his copy of all the maps in his journal. “I want to get this to Billings, but it must be done in private. I’m going tomorrow to his ship. After that, I’d like to gather supplies and get out of here before we out-stay our welcome.”
“General Vallejo said we need papers to travel. He said we have to remain here until the authorities allow us to go.”
“He’s got only twenty-nine men, most of them funded by the local businessmen, which is why he can’t restrict trade. It seems Mexico has no coin to spare for maintaining armies. We can’t outrun him if he chases us. But I don’t think he will. The General can’t afford to leave the coast unprotected.”
“So we will just leave?”
He nodded. “At night. Smith tried to follow the regulations. It took months of dithering to finally grant permission and then they rescinded his letters of transit. Of course, he had forty well-trained, well-armed men. Easier to delay two people and we can’t wait months. We need to cross that desert in the winter.”
She gave him a doubtful look. His mind flashed back to Emma in the desert the day she nearly died. How much more terrible to face the wasteland a second time after barely surviving the first?
“We’ll be ready this time,” he assured. “I’ll carry more water.”
“You said yourself you can only bring so much and we have two less horses now. Will you follow the same route?”
He shook his head, keeping his gaze fastened upon her, asking her to be brave with his eyes.
“Well then, best face that in the winter.”
“We have to leave within the month.”
“All right then.” She turned to go, but he stayed her with his hand.
Her eyebrow arched, challenging him and he released her instantly.
“Emma, if I am arrested, take these to Captain Billings.” He extended his satchel and an envelope constructed from paper, tied with red trade ribbon and sealed with wax. She read the name of the addressee and the queer feeling returned to her stomach, as if some crawling thing wriggled within her. Neat blue letters spelled President Andrew Jackson, President, United States.
Jake retained his grip on the document as she accepted the other end. His gaze met hers and locked as her breath came in short panicked breaths. Why did he talk of being arrested?
“Will you?” he asked.
“You know I will.”
He released the letter and she stooped to open the secret pouch beneath her skirts. She tucked in the papers then dropped the hem of the bright green skirt Francisca had lent her. The hem fell short by American standards, just brushing her ankles. When she straightened she found him staring at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Seeing that much leg does something to my insides. Damned if I don’t want to kiss you again.”
A tingling awareness danced over her skin as she considered how very much she wanted to kiss him, as well. But she wouldn’t. She was a widow and they stood in a barn that was nearly as public as the street where he’d kissed her yesterday.
She lifted her chin. “I’m still in mourning.”
“Of course. I wonder if you might take charge of this, as well?” He draped the satchel over her shoulder. “The sextant is within.”
She understood this act as a peace offering and a validation. He told her without words he trusted her with matters of importance. But there was something else. He didn’t think he’d be here to do it. He talked of escape and planned for capture. Bands of fear squeezed the breath from her.
“I’ll keep it safe,” she whispered.
“I know.” He glanced toward the sun streaming into the barn. “Best get back, before we are missed.”
“Jake? Will it be all right?”
He did not offer assurance. “If they take me—go to Billings.”
He stroked her cheek and her eyes fluttered shut. She waited. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
Emma went to help Francisca with her party, tamping down her dread with each step. Soon Emma sat upon her horse beside a great two-wheeled cart, laden with food. Price had his men setting up tables upon wine casks on the hard-packed sand beyond the sea grass at the edge of town.
“Perfect for horse racing. You will see,” said Francisca.
Emma noticed the spits set up upon the beach and wandered down the path to the sand. Great hollows had been dug. Several men carried shovels full of hot coals from the bonfire to lay beneath the roasting meat.
Emma counted three lambs and a steer, split in two like a chicken carcass. She watched four men turn the thing, using metal poles.
Francisca laid out bowls and utensils. Kegs were placed and readied for the tap. Three musicians holding guitars began to play. This seemed to be the signal for the party to commence. The town turned out to celebrate.
Women gathered at the tables to arrange the meal. Her hostess introduced her in English and Spanish, but none of the women spoke anything but Spanish.
Emma spent the early afternoon nodding and being dragged to and fro. Francisca led her down the path to watch the races.
Far down the beach a group of men sat on agitated horses waiting. The crack of a rifle shot signaled the start. The men kicked at their horses. Sand flew from hooves as they thundered down the beach. She recognized Duchess on the ocean side galloping along and found herself cheering and waving a kerchief with the rest of the women.
The finish lin
e loomed and a pinto nosed forward, beating Duchess by half a length. The woman beside her, draped in a shawl embroidered with pink roses, yelled and ran toward the victor. The rider dragged her up before him for a kiss, and then paraded about before the cheering crowd.
Emma found Jake sliding down from Duchess.
His grin warmed her.
“Close one,” he said.
She laid a hand on Duchess, whose ribs heaved as she blew great breaths. “I blame the rider.”
He laughed. “I think I could have taken them if she’d had a little more rest. The journey has been tough on all of us. The blacksmith looked over the horses.”
Emma glanced down at the horse’s neatly filed hooves. “You had her clipped.”
“And I bought another mule and a good saddle for you.”
Emma’s heart pounded. “Readying for departure.”
He nodded. “Soon. I don’t think I can see much of the southern coast. I’ll have to rely on Billings and Price for that. North of the bay is the Russian outpost. I’ve a mind to have a look.”
An unwelcome voice broke into their conversation.
“I found you. A good race, Captain.” General Vallejo spoke in English. Behind him eight soldiers watched with somber expressions.
Emma’s defenses snapped up. Something was very wrong. Had the general gotten word from Santa Barbara so soon?
“My horse is no match for the Spanish ponies.”
Vallejo’s smile did not reach his eyes. Emma noted that he kept the palm of his hand resting on the butt of his revolver.
“Perhaps you only had the wrong horse.”
Emma knew the general toyed with them, but she could not understand the game. She glanced around for some help. Perhaps Doña Francisca would appear, or her husband. She found them standing by the tables beside two soldiers. The worried expression on Francisca’s face made Emma’s stomach clench. Then she saw him.
A young soldier led forward a familiar horse, a big chestnut gelding. Her mouth went dry and small spots erupted before her eyes. It was Scout.
“Don’t faint,” she told herself.
Jake glanced her way. “What?”
Then he spied her horse, led forward by a man who looked none to happy with the honor.
“Your horse, I believe,” Vallejo said.
Emma was about to deny it, when she saw the general’s gaze fastened on Jake.
“Not mine,” he said.
Emma marveled at the relaxed tone, the easy posture. She felt like an icicle about to shatter on rock.
The triumph in the general’s stare gave Emma strength, turning her terror to resolve. The man looked so smug, so certain.
“This horse is captured to the east. The rancheros is surprised when he see him already gelded. More interesting is this brand.” The General moved to Scout’s hindquarters and traced the incriminating mark. Scout lifted a hind foot but the general moved away too quickly.
Regret burned into Emma as she recognized that her soft-hearted nature, her unwillingness to sacrifice her horse’s life would cost theirs.
“U.S. How you think this creature came here?”
“Walked?” said Jake.
Vallejo seemed to only like sarcasm when he dealt it. “This is your horse, Turner.”
“Not mine. Maybe it got away from Smith’s party.”
A flicker of doubt crossed Vallejo’s face, then he frowned, setting his lips until they whitened.
“Saddle this horse,” he shouted.
Two of his men sprang to do his bidding. Scout flattened his ears and nipped at the closest soldier landing a bite that caused the young man to howl and leap away.
A smile crossed her lips and she forced it back. Silly to feel proud of her horse, but she did.
“Mount up,” said Vallejo.
Jake shrugged. “I don’t know what this will prove.”
“No one can ride this horse. The rancheros tried and they are the best riders. This animal belongs only to one man—you.”
Jake lifted a foot to the stirrup. Scout swung his head around and Jake slapped him with his hat. Scout’s ears flattened as Jake mounted. Emma held her breath as his seat hit the saddle with more force than necessary.
Emma noticed he left the reins very loose allowing Scout to immediately drop his head. For a moment, the horse stood motionless and then erupted into wild bucking sending them all scurrying for safety.
Scout wheeled on his front feet, kicking his hind legs high in the air. The crowd gasped as Jake clung to the saddle horn. Scout crow hopped as sand sprayed in all directions. Finally, Scout succeeded in getting Jake out of the saddle. He bounced once on the creature’s hindquarters before soaring through the air in a spectacular arch and landing on the beach hard enough to leave a divot.
Emma rushed to Jake, kneeling as Scout took several more unnecessary kicks. He came to a stop then and stared at Emma, his ears pricked.
Her heart gave a shudder and she glanced away.
Francisca and John now reached Jake.
“Are you injured?” asked John.
Jake shook his head.
“Well, I hope that satisfies you, General. That—” John pointed at Scout “—is most definitely not his horse.”
But the general was watching the animal as he nickered.
Emma felt her face heat.
“I fear I make a mistake.” His mustache twitched. “It is not his horse. But the Señora’s.”
Emma felt pinned to the sand. She could not have risen if her life depended upon it. Then she realized that it did.
“I would like to see her ride this horse,” said Vallejo.
Francisca stood before her. “Are you mad? That devil will kill her.”
John faced Vallejo. “You said yourself that none of the rancheros could ride him. I cannot permit a woman, my guest, to try.”
The general faced off with John Price as Emma cowered in the sand trying to look terrified, which she was, but not for the reason they supposed.
“Think I broke my elbow,” said Jake, lifting his sleeve to reveal a purple welt upon his arm. “And that fellow needs attention.”
Emma glanced to the soldier Scout had bitten and noticed he held his hand over a bleeding wound.
The general scowled at the group before him. “Take that horse to the corral.” He stared at Price. “You should remember what country accepted your citizenship.”
Price did not blink. “And you should remember that my funding pays the salary of six of your twenty-nine men.”
Vallejo’s forehead wrinkled further as he pointed at Jake. “I am detaining this man until the governor-general sends word.” He waved to his soldiers who quickly grasped Jake’s arms.
Emma found her legs beneath her and she beat her fist on the chest of the nearest soldier. The man looked horrified and released Jake to step away.
Jake grasped Emma’s arms. “Stop now.”
She gazed up at him.
“Remember what we talked about earlier?” His voice was low, barely more than a breath. He lifted his satchel from the sand and draped it onto her shoulder. Beneath her skirts the letter and sextant rested. She understood. The maps, he wanted her to go to the captain.
She nodded.
“There’s a good girl.” His voice was louder now. “Just like a woman to get hysterical over such a thing. They are such emotional creatures, God love them.”
The general gave Emma a dismissive look and she understood. Jake expected her to act like the spy she had asked to become. She set her teeth and lowered her gaze to the beach, making her posture look the picture of defeat. After all—what could one woman do?
Chapter Nineteen
Jake turned from the barred window of his prison cell within the fort and handed the letter to John Price.
“Please give this to Emma and see she gets aboard the Loriotte today.”
John scowled. “Certainly, but are you sure that’s what you want?”
It wasn’t. He admitted it to
himself. He didn’t want to lose Emma anymore than he wanted to lose his life. But he saw no other way to keep her safe than to send her into another man’s keeping.
“I dragged her into this mess.”
“Good thing, really. She’s the only reason Vallejo hesitates. No one in their right mind would bring a woman on such a journey. But if what you say is true and Miss Lancing is your unwilling companion, why has she not sought assistance from my wife or Captain Billings? For what reason does she risk her life to guard your secrets?”
Why had she? “I don’t know.”
“There is the possibility my wife favors.”
He could use a woman’s perspective, as he was at a loss. He didn’t understand why it was so difficult to do what he knew was right. For Emma’s safety, he must get her out of California.
Price continued. “But first I have a question for you. How do you feel about Emma?”
“What do you mean?”
“Simple question, Turner. Would you die for her?”
He nodded without thinking.
“Well, then I’d say my wife is correct. Emma is in love with you. And it appears you are in love with Emma.”
Jake stared in silence as that possibility seeped into his brain like water through cracks in the earth. Was it possible? He gazed at the bars of the cellar window. What difference did that make now? His teeth gnashed together and he snapped at Price. “Will you give her the letter or not?”
“I’ll be happy to. Also, I have word that Governor-General Echeandia has arrived. Whatever they will do should begin shortly. I am urging that they deport you at your own expense. I, of course, will be happy to fund your passage home.” Price grinned and the edges of his mustache lifted.
“Thank you for your efforts.”
John extended his hand. “I’ll come again tomorrow.”
Jake listened to his friend’s heels ring along the passage and his knees gave way. He sank to the cellar floor. Could it be true? Could Emma love him?
A wave of longing swept through him. This was best for Emma, but how he ached to hold her in his arms one last time.
