River to Cross, A

by Yvonne Harris

  “And you didn’t want me to see you do it.”

  He looked at her sharply.

  “I was married to a soldier. I know what you’re trained to do, Jake, so you don’t have to shield me.” She looked down at her fingers intertwined with his. “I guess your training came in handy today.”

  A smile pulled at his lips. “Starting to like my job, are you?”

  “How do you stay so calm through everything? It’s a little odd.”

  He gave a snort. “It took me years of practice to learn how. We’re trained to handle emotions in tense situations. Detach and you stay in control. If you don’t, you make mistakes. It’s that simple.” He paused. “You handled things pretty well yourself, by the way.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  He slid a glance at her. “Only because you looked so confident with that Colt in your hands. Who taught you how?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he wanted to call it back.

  “Carl did.”

  Carl again.

  He felt like breaking something.

  “Come on in and I’ll make some coffee,” Elizabeth said when they stopped at the Fort Bliss entrance gate. The guard recognized Jake and waved them through.

  “Better not. You drink coffee this late, you’ll be up all night.”

  A smile barely made it to her lips. “I probably will be anyway. Every time I close my eyes, I picture what happened at the store.” She looked away. “I’m not used to being shot at, Jake.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Frankly, I don’t like it much, either.”

  He followed her into the house, shut the door, and held his arms out. “Come here,” he said.

  She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him as if she were drowning, her face flattened against his shirt. Her breath caught on a sob, and tears spread a warm, wet feeling across his chest.

  “I was afraid I’d lost you, too.” She pressed her mouth against his neck, the words coming out ragged.

  He pulled her closer. She’d been worried about him.

  A lump as hard as a peach pit swelled in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone cried for him. A woman doesn’t cry for a man unless she cares.

  He blinked back tears as he held her tight. A heavy feeling overcame him as he thought back on everything she’d been through since the day her brother was murdered.

  In the dim light of the narrow hall, they held each other—her crying, him soothing her. He’d never told her how he felt because he didn’t quite believe it himself. Didn’t want to believe that what he felt was love, because she wanted nothing to do with a man in the military.

  Afraid I’d lost you, too.

  If he was reading that right, she’d just told him she loved him.

  A few moments later, she pushed away.

  He looked at her. Her cheeks were wet. “You all right?” he asked.

  Wiping at her eyes, she nodded. “I’m sorry. Don’t pay any attention to me. Let me go wash this stuff out of my hair and get normal again. There’s lemonade in the icebox if you don’t want coffee.”

  He blew his breath out hard. “I really shouldn’t stay. I’ve got paper work to do for Colonel Gordon. I don’t want him taken by surprise. There will be questions in the morning from the sheriff. Will you be all right alone, or would you rather stay at my place? I’ll sleep on the cot.”

  “You could stay here,” she said.

  They were stopped in front of her father’s quarters at Fort Bliss.

  He shook his head. “No, absolutely not. You’re in the guest section here, and it’s well patrolled. Everyone knows you, and someone might have seen me come in. People are too quick to talk. Neither one of us needs the gossip. I’ll be working on my reports till late into the night anyway. At Camp Annex, my quarters are off to themselves. Better for you.”

  “I’ll come with you, then. I’m still shaky, which isn’t like me. I guess I don’t want to be alone tonight. I just need to gather a few things and get a clean outfit for tomorrow. I’ll wash up at your house.”

  Back at his quarters, Jake wandered into his small kitchen, set the oil lamp down, and went to the wooden icebox. Blankly he stared into its white interior at the everyday things of life: milk, pickles, biscuits, eggs. Cool air hit him in the face.

  In the background, he heard water dripping. Elizabeth was in the other room, washing bits of tomato out of her hair.

  His mind went back over the events of the day: the shooter at the store, Elizabeth’s screaming. Just remembering made his throat go dry. If he’d stumbled on his run to the counter, if his kick had been a fraction off, if the gunman had been one second faster . . .

  Dread screwed his eyes shut.

  Nothing bothered him, she’d said.

  She was wrong. Almost losing her today was a wake-up call. Just thinking about it now made it hard for him to get air into his lungs.

  Most women would have ducked down behind that counter to save their own skin. Not Elizabeth. Instead, she had stepped in to save his. And he knew if the gunman, a bear of a man, had somehow gotten the upper hand, Elizabeth would’ve shot the man in an instant in order to save him.

  He had Carl to thank for that.

  His hand stilled as he stared into the icebox. Then the thought jumped into his mind: He had Carl to thank for a lot of things.

  He slammed shut the icebox door and went into the living room to write up his report.

  Every now and then, a smile crept onto his face. He stopped writing and ran a hand back and forth across his chest, feeling the damp front of his shirt—his cried-on shirt.

  At quarter past three in the morning, Jake shot bolt upright on the cot, his mouth dry again, his heart pounding in his ears. His back, his pillow, and the sheet beneath him were soaked with sweat. He sat up and swung his legs over the side, fighting through the fog in his head. A dream, a bad dream, that’s all it was.

  He shoved to his feet, rubbing his face with both hands, his mind still echoing with his own nightmarish screams. In his dream, she’d been killed.

  Barefooted, he pulled on his trousers and went back into the living room.

  Fully awake now, he sat down and tried to read over the report he’d written earlier. He leaned back in the chair. For someone as controlled as he was, when it came to Elizabeth, it was as if he were a different person altogether.

  He couldn’t concentrate. His mind jumped from one sentence to the other, not registering the words on the page. He knew he wouldn’t breathe easy until this thing was over and done with, the thief locked up behind bars.

  A battle for another day.

  The next morning, wearing denim work pants, his hair still damp from washing, Jake brought Elizabeth coffee in his bed.

  Her quiet, steady breathing told him she was still asleep. In the early morning light, her face seemed to glow. He stood there and gazed at her, at her lips relaxed in slumber. Softly, so as not to wake her, he leaned down and kissed her.

  He looked into the shadows beyond the bed, his thoughts clear and sharp. Elizabeth stirred and sighed in her sleep. He gave one of his own and stepped back.

  “Good mornin’,” he said. “Time to get up.”

  She stretched and smiled at the coffee in his hand. He placed the steaming cup on the night table for her.

  He leaned against the wall, deliberately not touching her, wanting no distractions until after he’d said what was on his mind. Arms folded across his chest, he wondered how to start.

  “Why so serious?” she asked.

  He was silent for a moment, his lips pursed.

  “Last night was a wake-up call for me,” he began. “For both of us.”

  She nodded, then asked quietly, “How long will you be here at Fort Bliss?”

  “I’d like to work for Colonel Gordon, and then if I’m lucky, run a battalion of my own. A lot is happening in this country and in the Army. I’d like to be part of it. Then in five years or so, I could retire
as a lieutenant colonel and—are you ready for this? Your father thinks I should get into his business. An ex-Army colonel would have a leg up. It’s a big step for me. How long in Texas?” He shrugged. “The Army decides that.”

  “And if something else happens? What if there’s another war?”

  Jake’s gaze held hers, steady, unwavering. “If that happens and I’m in the Army, I go in a heartbeat. You have to know that.”

  She swallowed. “What if something happens to you?”

  He pushed off the wall and sat on the side of the bed, put his arm around her. “Unlike Rangers, colonels have a pretty good life expectancy. Their wives are important to their success as officers. But if something should happen, you say a prayer for me, and you deal with it, knowing I went doing something I believed in. Then you get on with your life. Nobody—military or civilian—can count on tomorrow. All we have for certain is today, right now.”

  “I thought about that last night.”

  “So did I.” He squeezed her hand. “I want to spend all my todays with you. I love you, Elizabeth. Anything I do, I want you with me. Always. And although you might not want to, I think you love me, too.”

  She looked away without answering, then nodded and looked back at him. “I do.”

  Hearing that, he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “Can I persuade you to say that in front of the chaplain?”

  “Yes. And the sooner the better.”

  He smiled so wide, he thought his face would break.

  “Let’s go tell Ruthie,” he said.

  The wedding and festivities surrounding the happy event was everything Elizabeth had dreamed about. For Jake’s sake, she asked for a military wedding—traditional, formal, and beautiful. It seemed as though half of El Paso had come out to Fort Bliss to see Lloyd’s little sister marry a handsome Cavalry major.

  The ceremony was conducted by Jake’s friend, Army Chaplain William Tyler. Suzanne was maid of honor, and brand-new Lieutenant Gus Dukker was the best man.

  The recessional under the arch of swords was both dramatic and humorous. Elizabeth, her ivory wedding gown trailing on the carpet, giggled when the last swordsman tapped her fanny with his sword as she went by. “Welcome to the U.S. Army, ma’am,” he said.

  Nearly every week, the telegraph at Elizabeth’s office chattered with a message about General Diego’s trial. The Grande Examiner kept its readers informed of the progress—both of the admired Mexican President Hector Guevara and of the trial proceedings in the U.S. for the Mexican rogue general.

  General Diego and Major Chavez had been transferred under heavy guard to an unnamed Federal installation in East Texas where they were awaiting trial.

  As expected—or perhaps it was privately agreed upon—Mexico was leaving the entire matter up to the United States. President Guevara was solidifying his position daily. He still kept military guards along Chihuahua’s rivers to protect the dams, but nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Time and again, Jake, Gus, Fred, and Elizabeth took the train to Austin for the hearings. Each time, their appearance in court was accompanied by a throng of reporters from the press. Although Elizabeth was nervous about testifying at first, Jake was calm and relaxed. He was no stranger to hearings and giving testimony. That went along with being a Ranger and a lawman.

  Elizabeth had never seen him in a suit before and was impressed at how official he looked at the legislative meetings her father dragged him to. Jake’s interests centered on security for the lawmakers and state officials, bringing in extra protection when necessary, even at small community meetings.

  After a packed final sentencing in Austin—at which time General Diego and Major Chavez both drew lifelong prison sentences for the death of Lloyd Madison, and a list of victims going back three years—a barbecue was announced for that evening.

  Each time they were called to Austin, they were expected to attend one of these shindigs, entertained as honored guests. Senator Madison came several times, as Jake’s guest, accompanying them to the parties and barbecues that followed the testimony.

  Jake had reservations about attending. “I’m glad it’s over, but celebrating prison sentences somehow strikes me as wrong.”

  Elizabeth nodded and looked for a polite escape.

  Frank and Gus wanted to stay for the down-home, boot-stomping Texas blowout, hosted by Senator Elmore Carter and his pretty Mexican wife, Margarita.

  Loud country-western music sounded from the terrace of the stately stone mansion outside Austin.

  Jake would just as soon have bypassed all the social events until Senator Madison explained what was really going on. Jake was being looked at for something else.

  Whatever it was, Jake wasn’t sure he wanted it.

  When he’d accepted Colonel Gordon’s invitation to come back to the Fourth Cavalry, it had felt like coming home to him. He wore the gold leaves of Major easily and liked running the battalion the way Colonel Gordon wanted.

  Jake checked his pocket watch and asked Elizabeth how long before they could decently leave. She pulled him aside to where they could speak privately.

  “I know, I know,” he said. “Your dad insists it’s leading to something more for me. For us. Something political. But this is your kind of crowd, not mine. I’m a soldier, not a statesman. I’d be nothing here without you.”

  Elizabeth laughed and hugged his arm close. “If that’s what you think, you are so wrong.” She turned. “I’ll be right back. I want to tell Dad good-bye,” she called over her shoulder.

  A big dark-haired man in denims and boots—Texas State Senator Max Roberts—saw Jake and walked over, hand outstretched.

  “Howdy there, Major Nelson. Glad you could make it,” he said, a hint of his Yale accent slipping through.

  Jake walked to meet him and grabbed his hand. Normally, Jake was weary of the pretense, except this man he especially liked.

  “I heard talk the Army’s sending you another battalion to get ready,” Roberts said quietly.

  “Looks that way.” Jake shook his head. “I’ve got to get this present one ready to go before that can happen.”

  “We need men like you in public office—strong, ethical men who love Texas and can see the big picture. The legislature’s going to have a Senate opening in a couple of years. Assuming your battalion falls into place for you, would you consider leaving the Army to run for office?”

  Jake studied Max Roberts. What he was intimating was something that fit Jake’s own personal schedule. The Army first, and then the law.

  “I’ve thought about it,” Jake said, “but I felt committed to the military first. Then there’d be time for me.” He paused, then said, “I’ll need some help.”

  “You’ll have all you need. Some powerful men have been watching you, and they like what they see,” Roberts said. “I’ve been appointed to sound you out. I have to be in El Paso next Wednesday and Thursday. Let’s talk about it then.”

  Max Roberts looked up. “And here comes your pretty wife. I’ll go back to mine now.” He threw an arm around Jake’s shoulder. “I want you to know I’m looking forward to next week.”

  Jake watched Roberts heading back to the party and grinned.

  Senator Jake Nelson.

  Had kind of a nice ring to it.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Rachel Murphree, Borderlands librarian at El Paso Community College, who knows so much about the Texas Rangers.

  Thanks also to Jim Ryan who provided information about the Texas Rangers. A dedicated historian for Ranger and Indian Wars, Jim provided helpful details for the novel. For those readers who may be interested, visit his website at fbtre.org.

  Thanks to Ken Prusso, the great-great-great nephew of a famous Texas Ranger, William Alexander Wallace, known as Bigfoot Wallace. Ken’s stories about his uncle bring those long-ago Ranger heroes to life. “Bigfoot” was six feet two inches tall—and was the runt of his family.

  Thanks to “Cowboy Bob” Lemen, a f
ormer Minnesota state legislator, writer, amateur historian, and horseman, who helped vet some of the details in this book. His website, lemen.com, has lots of insights into good horsemanship and Old West history.

  Thanks to Christina Stopka, Deputy Director, Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum. She always knew where to find the information on the Frontier Battalion needed for the story.

  Thanks to James Smith, Librarian, U.S. Cavalry Association, for the information he provided on the Cavalry and their weapons.

  Thanks also to CW4 Tom Callahan, U.S. Army Retired, for his insight and information about the American military. Tom always had the answers—or knew where to get them for the story.

  Thanks to Mary Sue Seymour for unfailingly good advice.

  And a special thanks to my editors, David Long and Luke Hinrichs, two gentlemen this writer was lucky to have in her corner. Their encouragement and support made all the difference.

  About the Author

  Yvonne Harris earned a Bachelor of Science degree in education from the University of Hartford and has taught throughout New England and the mid-Atlantic. Currently she teaches writing at a local college. She is a winner and three-time finalist of the Golden Heart Award. Before turning to fiction, she wrote articles for magazines. Although Yvonne and her husband live in New Jersey to be close to family, she was raised in Alabama and considers herself a Southern writer.

  Books by Yvonne Harris

  * * *

  The Vigilante’s Bride

  A River to Cross

  Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook

  Website: www.bethanyhouse.com

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