River to Cross, A

by Yvonne Harris

  “Great,” Elizabeth said. “I’m so hungry, and she’s cooking something over there in that pot that smells heavenly.”

  Humming to herself, Elizabeth sat down at the little folding table in the kitchen. Knees and shoulders touching, she, Jake, Laszlo, Nadia, and their two children all crowded together. Fred and Gus sat cross-legged on the floor, plates in their laps. Six adults and two children squeezed into the five-by-ten-foot space.

  Nadia had fixed a cocido—a pinto, black, and garbanzo bean stew with chunks of rabbit, corn, potatoes, and any other vegetables she found in her kitchen. A flat, salty corn cake and a pitcher of wild-tasting goat’s milk finished off the menu.

  “Delicious. I’ve never tasted goat’s milk before,” Elizabeth said, licking her lips. She raised an eyebrow at Jake who, after one tiny sip, carefully set his glass down.

  Elizabeth smiled at his expression. She leaned over and patted his hand. For a few hours at least, life had returned to normal.

  They took turns, passing the nine-month-old baby from lap to lap and feeding her with their fingers from their plates.

  Elizabeth looked over at Jake as he let the baby lick his fingers. His face was different, soft and half smiling, the cleft in his chin deepening. He leaned back in his chair and gave Elizabeth a long, bored look.

  Liar, she thought. Reaching out, she rested her hand on his forearm and felt the muscles tighten beneath his shirtsleeve. Despite that easy, casual attitude, he was as tense as she was. She wondered if she’d ever understand a man whose eyes told her one thing but whose lips said something quite different.

  He acted as if he were three different men rolled up into one.

  His public image was that of the dedicated Ranger—in control, determined, a man with all the charm of a wolf about to spring on its prey. That one strode into a roomful of men and held a gun on them, brazenly taking charge. That one raised the hair on the back of her neck.

  Then there was the serious man who smiled easily when around friends, as comfortable with judges and abbots as he was with cowboys. An officer who joined the Rangers and took up the cause for justice because nobody else would. If he stayed in the Army, he’d probably wind up running it.

  And finally—her throat tightened—there was the private Jake Nelson, the man she’d only caught glimpses of when he momentarily dropped the mask. The toughness disappeared then, replaced by a gentleness no one knew he possessed. That one had kissed her with such exquisite tenderness she’d nearly wept.

  Who was he now? she wondered.

  As soon as the meal was over, they all followed Nadia outside, dragging their chairs and cushions with them and arranging them in a semicircle around the front of the vardo.

  When Nadia went back inside for another pillow, Elizabeth said softly to Jake, “Do all Gypsies live like this?”

  He nodded. “Most of them. They’re treated like pariahs everywhere, here and in the U.S. No one trusts them; they can’t get jobs.”

  “Ever have any work for you?” she asked, watching the open door of the vardo for Nadia.

  “Not in the Rangers.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mainly because they can’t qualify. To join the Rangers, you must own a good horse, saddle, the best weapons. That all costs money, which most Gypsies don’t have. Also, they have a reputation as being the best thieves and pickpockets in the world. I don’t know as I believe it—I never wanted to take the chance. But now I think I would.”

  He returned a big wave to Laszlo, who was walking up and down the rows of vardos inviting everyone to come meet his new friends from Texas.

  To Elizabeth’s surprise, they came almost at once. The word was out. The Texas Rangers were among them. Still, they acted wary, for most of them had never seen, let alone talked to, a Texas Ranger.

  Handsome, sharp-eyed men led their wives and families over to see what kind of man he was.

  In Texas, they were The Law.

  At first, the questions came at Jake slowly, and then one after the other, questions about the government—Mexican as well as American. Jake answered them all. Questions about the Rangers, about how much money he made, about his family. When they asked about his father, he explained how they used to fight, all the drinking, and his leaving home when he was fifteen. “Not good,” he said.

  Gypsy faces softened. A few men nodded and moved closer, appreciating his honesty. They understood. Many of them had similar childhoods.

  Elizabeth was moved as well as she heard him speak of his background.

  Answering a question about defensive tactics, he drew diagrams with a stick in the dirt. When he finished, he drove the stick into the ground and pointed to them and then to himself. “We need each other,” he said.

  Off to one side with the women, Elizabeth watched him and was puzzled by what she saw. The man was a born leader, she thought. With a sudden flash of insight, she realized that Jake viewed these men as potential allies and possible recruits. She smiled to herself.

  She’d been raised in Washington, D.C. She could pick it up instantly when a man was politicking. Jake might not know it himself, but she did. Captain Jake Nelson was campaigning for votes and approval when and if he ever needed them, and doing a fine job of it. No matter what he said, he belonged in government.

  As it grew dark, the guitars came out and the music began. A large campfire had been built, which was circled now by many, including Jake. Arms folded, standing close to the fire, he talked with a group of men. Brassy shadows from the fire flickered across his face.

  The warm sound of guitars playing filled the air as the throbbing beat of flamenco began and the castanets click-click-clicked. Soon the guitars grew louder, faster, raspier.

  Glasses filled to the brim with a dark purple wine appeared on brass trays. Elizabeth smiled her thanks when someone pressed a glass into her hand. She sipped, tasting it. Wonderful. Fragrant.

  She glanced at Jake. He was surrounded by women, pretty women with long hair who were obviously flirting with him. He bent toward them, listening attentively as they spoke and laughed. Elizabeth drained her glass and turned her attention to the dancers.

  The Gypsies kept time, clapping hands and stamping feet, beating out the vibrant rhythm. Elizabeth was fascinated by this glimpse into a secret world she never knew existed. People feared Gypsies, and now she knew why. The Gitano lived life on the edge.

  As soon as her life calmed down, she decided she would write an article—maybe a whole series of them—on what Gypsies were really like, and what life was like for Gypsies.

  A Gypsy girl with black hair halfway down her back swayed around the circle of men, eyeing each as she passed. She stopped before Jake and invited him to dance. Though the music was tempting, Jake shook his head. He felt uneasy and self-conscious dancing flamenco with Elizabeth there. He knew that upper-class Mexicans considered the dance vulgar. Though not Mexican, Elizabeth was certainly upper class. Much to his surprise, he found himself a little embarrassed.

  The Gypsy girl, both hands propped on her hips, swayed closer. “You too good to dance flamenco with me, eh? I thought you were different, but you’re like all the others.” She turned to walk away.

  Jake caught her wrist. “Wait. One of us dances flamenco very well, but it’s not me.” He pointed to Gus. “He’ll show you off to your friends and make you proud. He’s very good. Remember, he’s half Gypsy himself.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Jake said while leading her over to Gus.

  Eyes gleaming, Gus listened. Then with a wide grin he led his partner to the center of the clearing. He nodded to the guitar players.

  The guitars struck again, and on the downbeat he spun her in close to him and danced the male counterpart with her. He also was a big man. Though his footwork in riding boots was not as nimble as some of the others there dancing, he still knew all the right moves. He slapped his hand, his thigh, his foot. The Gypsies shouted and clapped. Arms over his head, he snapped his fingers. H
ammering his feet, he circled his partner.

  The Gypsies looked stunned.

  Jake laughed to himself. Elizabeth would never know he’d turned the dance down, not for himself, but for her. Funny, but for some reason, that woman brought out the best in him. He frowned and decided he had to think about that.

  Gus finished to applause and approving shouts. No one dreamed a gringo Ranger would know flamenco. He and his Gypsy partner strolled off together.

  A Gypsy man pulled Elizabeth to her feet and led her into the circle. She attempted to dance flamenco in her boots and pants. She stamped her feet and burst out laughing. Everyone seemed to understand that she wore men’s clothes to hide from the police, and they loved her for it.

  Arms high in the air, long hair flying around her face, she called, “Hoopa hoopa hoopa!” and stamped her feet in time to the music. It didn’t matter to her that she didn’t know what she was doing. Jake doubled over with laughter. The Gypsies grinned and clapped with her.

  Standing in a circle of women, she had another glass of wine. And another.

  You’ve had more wine tonight than you’ve had in a year! she scolded herself.

  And she felt muzzy from it.

  She slipped away and sat on the ground near one of the caves the Gypsies used for shelter. Watching the dancers and enjoying the music, she leaned against the cool stone with a smile.

  The thrumming of the guitars coaxed her eyelids lower and made her sleepy. A minute later, her eyes closed.

  “I’ve had too much wine,” she whispered.

  “I think you’re right,” a deep voice said.

  An arm she recognized reached around her back, another arm under her knees, and she was lifted. With a sigh she turned her face into a familiar shoulder.

  “Where do you want her bed sack?” Fred asked.

  “Right there’s fine, away from the door,” Jake said. He hauled his own blankets across the floor, just inside the front of the tent.

  Fred spread Elizabeth’s bed sack on the sole mattress in the tent, where Jake laid her down. In the light of a flickering oil lamp, he pulled off her boots and socks. Emotion welled up inside him, tugged at him. She was exhausted and she’d had too much wine.

  “Gus will be late coming back,” he said to Fred. “I’ll stay with her for now, maybe get some sleep myself.”

  Fred nodded. “I think we’ll be all right here. Place seems safe. Lots of people.” With that, he said good night, turned, and left.

  Jake tucked a blanket around her shoulders. Then he went and lay down near the front of the tent where he could keep watch for a while. He unlaced his boots and wrestled them off.

  Settling back, his thoughts went immediately to Texas and Colonel Gordon’s offer to come work with him. Tempting. It could put him on a fast promotion track to the rank of colonel.

  He couldn’t predict Elizabeth’s reaction to that. It would be a huge step up for him.

  But more and more, he found himself considering leaving the Rangers when his time was up and going into real law. The advantage would be living a more normal life, a life involved with politics and the public. No more chasing after outlaws.

  Still, he couldn’t figure her out. Or himself, for that matter. The signals were subtle, but nevertheless were there: the almost constant eye contact between them, the casual touching, on his part as well as hers. He knew—but he wasn’t sure she did—that the classy Elizabeth Evans was as attracted to him as he was to her. The way she’d kissed him had given her away.

  He shifted on the bed sack, looking at her in the dim light, the slight rising and falling of her form as she breathed. Though the ground was hard, he barely noticed it. Rangers were as used to sleeping on the ground as in a bed. But not Elizabeth, not a soft-skinned little woman. He was glad then she had a mattress on which to rest. He wanted only good dreams for her this night.

  He rolled over so he could see the tent’s door, yet his mind was still very much on her. He couldn’t deny that she did something to him. Her smile, her voice, even the way she walked affected him. And deep inside, something rebelled at being so moved without knowing why.

  A sigh blew out of him.

  He suspected he did know why.

  Deep down, a wariness stirred. He’d had it before, the warning all soldiers got going into battle when the odds were against them.

  A frozen lake he’d started across as a boy flashed through his mind. He was out in the center before he realized the ice under his boots had moved, as if he were standing on loose marbles. His stomach turned to air. Mid-stride, he stopped and slowly, very slowly, backed up.

  He knew then, as now, he could break through any minute and be in over his head with her.

  If he wasn’t already.

  The tent lay in deep shadows, lit only by one small lantern. He rose up and walked over to her, gently pushed her hair aside with the back of his hand so he could see her better.

  Her mouth was right there, only inches from his.

  He suddenly wanted to kiss away every hurt she’d had in the last few days. He went down on one arm beside her. Barely touching her, he brushed his mouth lightly across hers, feeling her lips soften under his. They tasted faintly of wine.

  “G’night,” he whispered, then reached over and grabbed an extra blanket. He moved back to the far side of the tent. Staring into the dark, he lay on his bed and turned his back to her.

  Even honor had its limits.

  In some far, foggy part of her brain, Elizabeth vaguely realized someone was shaking her shoulder.

  “Elizabeth, wake up. I’ve brought you coffee.”

  Her eyelids fluttered several times. Eyes closed, she drifted, floating in the dream shadows between sleeping and waking, aware only of Carl’s hand on her shoulder. She snuggled closer against a solid hip and a hard leg that seemed somehow longer than she remembered. The first tenuous doubts tugged at her sleep. Not yet . . . not yet.

  Kneeling on her bed sack, Carl shook her gently again. It had been so long. She stretched against him.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered sleepily.

  “Not a good idea,” said a male voice, not Carl’s.

  Elizabeth exploded from sleep. Wild-eyed, arms and legs flailing, she struggled to sit up, wriggling in thirteen different directions at once.

  Hands faster than hers shot out, seized her wrists and clamped them together above her head. He threw a leg over her knees and pinned her to the blankets. The hard wall of his chest held her down with such strength it was useless to resist. She strained to free herself anyway.

  “Jake, Jake!” She called him for help.

  “Hey now, what’s all this about? I’m right here,” Jake said. His fingers tightened on her wrists.

  She stared up at the stern mouth, at the jaw covered with pale stubble. As she twisted against the steel grip of his hands, her eyes slowly focused. Jake was already there.

  “Stop squirming and wake up! You had too much wine last night and fell asleep outside. I put you to bed.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I had one glass of wine.”

  “I lost count at your third. And three glasses of that Gypsy wine would knock me flat.”

  Her eyes locked with his. “It did taste a little strong,” she said slowly.

  “Twice I tried to tell you, but you got snippy and told me to go away.”

  Way off in the back of her mind she also heard his smothered laugh when she told him to leave her alone and go find his lady friends.

  “I thought you were just bossing me around.”

  He hid a smile. “When I boss you around, you’ll know it.”

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  He did the same. His jaw bunched, two hard knots in front of his ears. “I don’t know what you were thinking, but I slept over there.” He pointed across the tent to the other pile of blankets.

  Uncertain, she sat up straight. The man beside her was all scowls and muscle and completely dressed. And so was she. She frowned and looked up a
t him.

  “Finally figured it out, did you?” he said with a tight smile.

  Her face burned, and an empty feeling hollowed her stomach. He’d misunderstood her struggling.

  “I’m not thinking anything. I was half asleep and dreaming about Carl, which I haven’t done for years. I’m sorry you misunderstood.”

  “Forget it,” he said.

  “Thank you for looking after me last night. You must be getting tired of that.” Her voice faltered, the words stuck in her throat.

  He chuckled. “You’re quite welcome.” Jake shoved to his feet, then reached down and pulled her up alongside him.

  “What happened last night was my fault, not yours. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed here with you, but one of us needed to watch you. Under the circumstances, any lady waking up like that would have reacted the way you did.”

  Now she felt guiltier than ever. Her head was splitting, and she felt like a fool. “I think I’m dying.” Eyes closed, she massaged her temples.

  He chuckled. “Your first hangover?”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “You were the cause of my first hangover. Apparently I’m the cause of yours. We’re even now.”

  He handed her a steaming mug of coffee. She took one look at it and her stomach heaved. With a shudder she pushed the cup aside. “I can’t drink that,” she said.

  “Got to—two cups at least.”

  She peeked through her fingers at the black coffee. The bitter aroma she normally loved made her stomach fish-flop. She shook her head.

  He pushed the mug back in front of her. “Now I’m bossing you around.”

  “If you make me drink that, I’ll probably throw up.”

  “If you don’t drink it, you definitely will, and I’d rather you didn’t do it in Laszlo’s clean tent.”