"How short?" Reese asked.
"One day. Two at the most."
Grace sent Reese a frantic look. "Two days!"
"Miramon and Mejia have decided to make examples of the guerrilleros they hold prisoner."
"Guerillas? As in bushfighters? That's not Luke. He's a diplomat, sent here by the U.S. government to... to—"
"To what, señorita?" Dominguez asked pointedly.
"To negotiate... well, I don't know exactly. No one would tell me."
Magdalena answered her. "He was sent to walk the thin edge of a razor, Señorita Turner. To be two men and yet, only one."
Grace shook her head. "I don't understand."
"You must forgive Magdalena. She lets her heart rule her mouth."
The woman stared at the ground, silent.
"Your brother was sent to learn what he could of our chances," Dominguez explained. "To help us overcome the oppression of Napoleon's troops. At the same time, he was to make Maximilian believe he was negotiating secretly for Los Estados Unidos on the chance that things fell that way. But in fact, it was a ploy to learn of his strategy."
Grace was dumbfounded. "You mean he was spying?"
Dominguez nodded. "He saved the lives of many of our men."
She sat down hard on the large rock Reese had been using. "Oh, my."
"It's all well and good that he's saved your men's lives," Reese accused. "Why have you not tried to save his?"
"As if we have not!" Magdalena exploded. "We have tried a dozen times with no success! We are all known to the Imperialist pigs. The minute we show our faces, they shoot us down like dogs. It is what happened tonight. Three of our men dead or full of French lead."
"This is why you have come, Donovan?" Dominguez inquired. "To save him?"
Reese nodded.
"Then perhaps we can work together toward that end."
Grace looked up, her eyes glazed with shock. "How is he? Have you seen him?"
Magdalena's face went pale as she gripped the bandoliers on her chest. "He is not well. When they took him, they beat him. It was bad. Luke is a strong man, but if we do not free him soon, he will not need an executioner's bullet to kill him."
Grace stood and pressed her face against Reese's chest. Through his shirt, he felt the dampness of her tears. Curling his arms around her, he realized their odds had just narrowed considerably. If Luke couldn't walk out of the prison under his own power, it would make escape that much harder.
He looked at Pablo Dominguez. "How many men do you have, and how many are behind bars?"
"We are still twenty strong. Seven of our number lie under Maximilian's guard. And there are many others. There is word that the Imperialists plan to attack in the next forty-eight hours, but no one knows where or how." He shook his head. "Maximilian tilts at windmills, but with the vigor of a fool who does not know the game is ended. Our generals, Escobedo and Corona, wait. For what," he added with disgust, "Quien sabe? Who knows? Our brothers do not have time for them to find their nerve, señor. Nor do I have the patience."
"Then tomorrow, we go. We'll get them out. Or die trying," Reese swore. With his arm still around Grace, he started back toward camp with Pablo and Magdalena at his side. "Tell me what you know. Tell me everything."
Chapter 20
Naturally, Reese argued against her coming.
Naturally, she won.
His arguments were overcome rather easily, she thought, by the mere fact that she remained one of the few unknowns in Querétaro and as such, unrecognizable as a rebel sympathizer. Her second, and even more convincing, argument was that she knew Luke on sight and Reese didn't. But the last nail in the coffin was drilled after they'd discussed and rejected a dozen ways to get them in the front door. Grace's idea had been ridiculously simple and seemingly foolproof despite the obvious risks.
Even so, Magdalena had argued that she should be the one to accompany Reese, knowing the floor plans of both the sprawling aqueduct and the Church of San Francisco on the Plaza de Santa Cruz. True as that was, as the plan coalesced, it became clear that Magdalena's obvious talents would be required elsewhere if Reese's scheme was to work.
A space of less than twenty-four hours existed within which they must accomplish the rescue. Possibly less if Mejia made good on his threat to execute the prisoners tomorrow. That was a possibility Grace refused to consider. The plan had to work. It simply had to.
While Reese, Pablo, and his men wrapped bundles of dynamite into neat and concealable explosive packages, Magdalena put the finishing touches on the disguise Grace would be forced to use tomorrow.
"It's awfully short, isn't it?" Grace asked, reaching up to touch her shorn head.
"You want to look like a boy, no?" Magdalena replied, stirring some concoction she'd made of mashed cattails and walnut shells. "Your own hair is like a golden flag to wave in their faces."
Grace nodded ruefully, fingering a long shock of blonde hair that lay, discarded, in her lap. "It'll grow back," she said, more to herself than the other woman. She glanced at the men, wondering what Reese would think of her without her mane of hair. She couldn't worry about that now. Luke was her first concern, and she'd do anything not to jeopardize his escape. She felt the cool weight of the mixture Magdalena had made as she plopped it on her head and spread it through what was left of her hair with a comb.
"Perhaps your brother will not recognize you this way, no?" Magdalena said with a smile in her voice.
"Luke would know me if my hair was green," Grace replied. "We're very close. At least, we were..." Her voice trailed off.
"Luke spoke of you often."
Grace swallowed hard. "He did? What did he say?"
"That he worried for you."
"Worried?" That was the last thing she'd expected to hear.
"That you would not find happiness," Magdalena explained. "That you worry for him too much and think not of yourself."
Of course, he'd been referring to Grace's interference between him and Karina, which had cost him a marriage. She bit her lip, holding back the pang of emotion that stabbed at her. If she hadn't told Luke about Karina's infidelity, none of this would be happening. Luke would never have signed up for a dangerous mission like this one, or be sitting in Maximilian's prison, awaiting execution. It was all her fault. If only she'd kept her mouth shut and let Luke and Karina work out their problems on their own.
But that was all water under the bridge and if he was worried about her, she reasoned, perhaps he didn't hate her completely.
That he'd talked to Magdalena about it at all made her curious. Luke wasn't particularly a forthcoming sort of man. Laconic might be a better description. Were he and Magdalena close? More than just friends? The look in the other woman's eyes when she spoke of Luke said they were. Her throat grew thick at the realization.
As Magdalena combed Grace's cropped, damp hair away her face, Grace decided forthrightness was the best approach.
"Are you in love with my brother, Magdalena?"
The comb stilled in her hair. Magdalena gave a small laugh. "You are very direct, Señorita Turner."
"Please, call me Grace. Forgive me for my boldness, but it seems there's little time for dillydallying around it. Like my brother said, I'm concerned about his happiness. He was very unhappy when he left the States. It would comfort me greatly to know that he'd found some solace here in Mexico before he was taken prisoner."
Magdalena rounded the rock upon which Grace sat and hunkered down before the fire. She stared into the flames, seemingly trying to sort out the answer for herself. "You ask if I'm in love with him. The answer is yes. But," she amended quietly, "it is not as simple as that. Luke... he is a complicated man."
How well she knew that. "Does Luke love you?"
Magdalena tilted up her chin and looked at Grace, her eyes overly bright. "He cares for me. Perhaps as he cares for you. Pues... not precisely that way. But love?" Magdalena shook her head with a self-deprecating laugh. "It would be mas facil—mor
e easy—to hold the wind in my hand than to pin a man like him down to a word. His heart still bleeds for another, I think. A fool, no? One who would let him go?"
Grace reached out to touch the other woman's shoulder. "A fool, yes. I'm afraid Luke was wounded deeply. I'm glad he had you, though. I'm very glad for that."
"Manana—tomorrow, in case something goes wrong for me, when you see him, you will tell him this for me?"
"That you love him?"
Magdelina squeezed her eyes shut, already regretting her words. "No. Do not tell him that," she begged. "Dios! I am the fool."
"No, you're not. Besides," Grace said gently, "I think he must already know."
Magdalena forced a smile, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "So, Grace, let us wash that mess from your hair now, before you start to look like a cattail yourself, yes?"
* * *
The hour was late by the time Reese returned to the fire. The plan with Dominguez and his men was sealed, and now they'd simply have to wait until tomorrow to execute it. Despite the knock on the head, fortune had been with them when they'd stumbled into the rebel camp. The plan had its flaws, but, he reasoned wearily, there was an element of comfort in pure numbers.
Except for the dim light of the blaze, the blackness was absolute. He found Grace already tucked between blankets, asleep. Hidden completely by the covers, she seemed so small and fragile. He was an idiot for agreeing to what she'd proposed tonight. But if there was one thing he'd learned on this trip—as crazy as Grace Turner's schemes seemed, they invariably worked. If, however, things went wrong, she'd be stood up against the same wall as him to face Maximilian's firing squad. That thought burned its way into his soul. There was only one answer to that. He'd simply have to make sure nothing went wrong.
A high-desert chill gnawed at the night air. Unfurling his own bedroll close beside hers, Reese settled beneath his blanket, listening to the frogs and the crickets serenade the night. The others were asleep, or at least making an attempt. Tension ebbed and flowed like an electric current through the guerrilleros. There wasn't a man among them who didn't have a personal stake in tomorrow. The men they were going to liberate were brothers, friends, sons, fathers. He was perhaps the only one who knew nothing of the men inside.
And just as well, he reasoned. No strings.
Except for Grace.
She stirred in her sleep, rolling closer to him beneath her blanket. Tucking his hands firmly beneath his head, Reese stared at the star-studded night sky, exercising the utmost restraint. He wouldn't touch her. Not here, he vowed. Their time was over. Tomorrow—whatever happened—was the end.
In her sleep, she burrowed instinctively closer to his warmth. Her hand drifted out from beneath her covers to close over his upraised bicep. He took a deep breath and held it, praying she would move it. Her scent invaded his senses like a shameless lure, disintegrating his resolve. Think of something else, he told himself. Anything else.
She whimpered his name in her sleep, her breath coming fast and shakily. She was having a bad dream, he realized. He could almost hear the heavy thud of her heart through her fingertips.
"Grace." He curled an arm across her shoulder. "Wake up."
With a start, she did, rising out from under the blankets like a shot. Disoriented, she blinked owlishly at him. "Reese?"
With his first glimpse of her, his eyes went wide. He scuttled backward, at first certain he'd made an awful mistake. Then he recognized her. "Your hair."
She blinked, then reached up to touch it. "I know."
He pulled her up against his shoulder. "It'll grow back, you know. Besides, I kind of like it this way."
"You do?"
"Aye." He kissed her forehead. "See? Nothin' to get in my way."
She pressed her face against his neck. "I'm scared, Reese. Would you... could you just hold me?"
He curled his arms around her. "Sure. Sure, darlin'." He could feel the tremors run through her as she pressed her body against his. He closed his eyes, absorbing the feel of her against him. This embrace would have to last him a lifetime.
"Reese?"
"Hmmm?"
"About what Magdalena said, about your being a national hero?"
"Forget that," he whispered, stroking her hair.
"Did you really save Juarez's life?"
"Believe me, it wasn't as heroic as they're saying. I didn't even know who Juarez was at the time. I just saw a man raise his gun to shoot an unsuspecting man who wasn't looking the right way, and I changed his mind."
"Then you are a hero," she said sleepily.
"No. I'm a gunfighter, Grace. It was instinct. Pure gut instinct."
She tightened her arms around his back. "If you say so."
"I do." Not that it mattered. She'd already made up her mind. "Go back to sleep. There's only a few hours left till morning."
A long silence whispered between them. He listened to the steady sound of her breathing, the chirr of the crickets, and the hiss of the fire, knowing absolutely that she hadn't done as he'd asked. Her heart was thudding against the wall of his chest like a hammer.
Finally she whispered, "Reese?"
"What, darlin'?"
"Do you think we'll die tomorrow?"
"I've no plans for it, lass," he replied tightly.
She kissed his neck hesitantly, lingering there as if sorting her thoughts. "Well, if we do, there's something you should know."
"What's that?" His hand cupped her head achingly closer.
"I might not get a chance to say it again, so I'll say it now." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Lifting up on one elbow, she looked him in the eye. "I love you, Reese Donovan, and I always will. I've loved you since before we met. I dreamed of you long before I walked into that saloon and laid eyes on you. And no matter what happens tomorrow, that will never change."
He started to speak, but she drew her hand up alongside his jaw, and kissed his cheek. "No. Don't say anything. I couldn't bear it if you did. Just hold me. Just hold me like you'll never let me go and let me fall asleep here on your shoulder. Just for tonight."
Reese swallowed heavily, tightening his arms around her. He didn't speak. For her sake, he couldn't. If he had, he might have told her that her words could have been his. He loved her in a timeless way that even he couldn't understand. But he'd never say those words to her. Not now. Not ever.
He held her there under the dome of stars until he felt her relax against him, her breathing deep and steady with sleep. And even then he didn't let her go. He clung to her as if she were a part of him. And hours later, when sleep finally stole over him, he dreamed of holding a child; a green-eyed child with thick, golden hair, who looked like Grace.
And in that dark place of dreams where no one could see, he smiled.
Chapter 21
The cantera-rock towers of the Church of San Francisco cast long shadows across the garden-studded Plaza de Santa Cruz at the center of town. Midday heat had driven most indoors. Except for the dozing burros and horses tethered to hitching rails and a score of children splashing playfully in a watering trough beside a tree-shaded gazebo, the streets of Querétaro were virtually empty.
The chime of the heavy bell tolled once to mark the half hour as Reese and Grace entered a small wooden door on the building's east side and slid, unnoticed, into the nearly empty church. Wearing borrowed clothes that hung as loose as flour sacks on her small frame and a large hat, Grace looked every bit the part she played. They passed parishioners bowed in silent prayer and a long table full of votive candles flickering in the dim light from the sanctuary windows. She mimicked Reese's genuflection as they crossed to the confessionals and kept her shorn head down.
Reese nodded to her, indicating that she wait for him there. Then he opened the small, ornate door and disappeared inside.
A small lattice screen slid open on the inside wall. Just beyond, a shadowy figure made the sign of the cross. "Bueno, mi hijo," said the priest on the other side.
Reese opened his mouth to speak and hesitated. Like a hinge rusted with disuse, the words issued hoarsely from him. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
Reese had spoken in English. The priest shifted on his hard wooden bench, and replied in kind. "You are Americano."
"Yes, Father."
"Bueno, go on. What have you to confess?"
"It's been fifteen years since my last confession."
There was a pause. "That is a long time, my son."
A lifetime, Reese thought. He leaned closer, speaking low. "My sins are too many to name. I've killed more men than I care to count, wasted my life on drink, lusted after women, stolen the heart of one in particular."
"And do you love this woman?"
Reese hesitated. "Yes, I do."
"Then to steal her heart is not a sin."
"I don't mean to tell you your business, Father, but it's surely a sin the way I did it."
The priest sighed in understanding. "Are you repentant for these things, my son?"
Reese stared at the confessional door, imagining Grace standing outside it waiting for him. The thought of her there made his stomach clench. "Do you mean, am I sorry for what I did, or that I wouldn't do it all over again if I had the chance?"
"The church cannot absolve you of sins you have not yet committed, my son."
"Then, yes. I am repentant, Father."
Reese watched the priest's hand make the sign of the cross through the shadowy lattice. "Then in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I absolve you of your sins." He said a few words of prayer in Latin, then was silent for a moment. When Reese made no move to leave, he said, "Hay mas? Is there something else?"
"Yes, Father," Reese said, sliding the gun silently from his holster. "I'm afraid there is one more sin I must confess."
* * *
Grace slid the coarse brown raiment over her clothes and pulled the cowl over her head. Reese did the same and tied the rope belt and crucifix loosely at his waist. Her gown was a little too long, his a bit too short. Reese removed his boots and donned a pair of hide sandals.
She glanced at the priest, who sat tied to a chair in the corner of the small room, his mouth gagged. "I don't think anyone saw us," she told Reese.
The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) Page 27
