Allegiance Read online

  Recalling Tyler's instructions to get information, she set aside her wariness. Mystery surrounded Alizar like a cloak, and she should be making use of every chance to peek inside. “I understand you were in exile from Mexico."

  When he stiffened, she regretted her straightforward approach. She returned his sharp look with what she hoped was a wide-eyed ingenuous air.

  After a moment, his lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “You have been listening to little Felicité, no?"

  "I intended no offense."

  "True, my family lived in exile. However, the past is best forgotten. New Mexico is my home now, and I remain content."

  Gently, she tried to draw him out, to encourage him to describe his present life as a merchant trader and landowner. While his guarded responses gave no hint of dissatisfaction with Santa Anna and his government, he seemed more than willing to boast about his huge ranch. She took mental notes when he described his influence in the Santa Fe community.

  "So after the Apaches drove the sheep off his ranch for the third time, the alcalde asked me to command the Santa Fe militia. He envies me my caballeros. They are good fighting men. Without them, I could not protect my hacienda from the Apaches."

  "How many ride for you?"

  "Fifty men. They make up half the militia."

  A small private army. Amy kept her expression bland. “That is interesting. I hope I will get a chance to visit your ranch. But tell me about the war your country is having with Texas. How do the people of New Mexico feel about it?"

  "What war? Texas is nothing more than a rebellious department.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the battles are at the lower end of the Río del Norte. We will see no fighting as far north as Santa Fe."

  "I heard the Texans claim that river as their border, which makes Santa Fe part of Texas."

  He laughed. “Preposterous! Forgive me, but you are gullible to listen to such tales. Governor Pérez keeps his troops on patrol. Our boundaries are safe from any foreign invasion. A lizard cannot slip across the border without our knowledge."

  "That's ... good."

  "Tell me this, Señorita Amy, why do you bother your pretty head with these grave thoughts of war and politics?"

  "I hope to make my home in Santa Fe, and I want to be sure I will be welcome. I fear your president might drive all the Americans out of New Mexico."

  "Do not worry. He does not concern himself with the Northern Territories. In Santa Fe, we are on our own. Many Americans live and prosper in peace. We value their friendship.” He smiled into her eyes. “I will personally see that you are made welcome."

  "Are you saying there is no talk at all of rebellion in New Mexico as there is in Texas?"

  "Rebellion, no.” He laughed and shook his head as if the idea were foolish. Still, something about his bland smile and the way his gaze slid away made Amy realize she would have to work harder to get the truth.

  * * * *

  After a hundred miles of barren hills, treeless plains, and brush-lined creeks, Council Grove was an unexpected surprise. A forest of real timber sheltered the Neosho River for several miles. With the arrival of Alizar's caravan, the encampment of traders waiting there more than doubled in size—a justifiable occasion for a Mexican fiesta.

  Amy invited Felicité and Maruja to the Baker wagons to show them the fashionable dresses she had brought from New Orleans to sell, as well as those she had created from her fine fabrics on the journey across Missouri. She spread a blanket on the ground in the cool shade of a walnut tree and laid out several of them, including a gown of soft green silk and lace, one of cream-colored velvet, and one of red satin brocade. “I can make these fit you, Felicité. Do you see one you like?"

  "Oh, the red one! Tía Maruja, is it not beautiful?"

  The duenna touched the satin and smiled.

  "If you want it, it's yours.” Amy laid it in her arms. “I'll take in the waist and shorten the hem. Doña Maruja, I would be honored if you would choose something for yourself as well."

  The older woman picked up a black silk chemise and matching petticoat. “How much?"

  "Please accept them as a gift."

  Doña Maruja's eyes widened.

  "I am indebted to you for your hospitality. Please take it."

  "Mil gracias." Smiling,Doña Maruja folded the garments into a tidy bundle.

  Felicité hugged Amy. “Thank you. I will wear it now.” She dashed away to her wagon while Maruja trailed behind, admonishing her niece to walk like a lady.

  Amy rewrapped all but the blue velvet gown and was stuffing them away in the wagon when Tyler came up behind her.

  "Good afternoon, Ty—Mr. O'Donnell."

  "Miss Baker.” He removed his hat.

  "They've planned a fandango for tonight, and I wished to get one of my dresses out."

  He acknowledged her rushed explanation with a slow nod. His bleak gray eyes searched her face as though searching for answers to unspoken questions. The pregnant silence tugged at her feelings, pulling her toward places of the heart she couldn't afford to explore. Not here, not now.

  She tore her gaze from his unhappy face. “I enjoy the dances."

  "So I've noticed."

  Amy's nails bit painfully into her palms. Over the past few weeks, she'd struggled to build a shell around herself to keep her thoughts from dwelling on Tyler, to prevent herself from watching compulsively for a glimpse of him as she moved about the camp. She'd fostered a numbness of spirit to dull the pain. Yet, standing beside him now, the old yearning flared up as great as ever. He hadn't laid a hand on her since the night he drank too much with his friend, Shoofly, but in her traitorous dreams, his arms still reached for her in the dark. She pushed the image from her mind. “I, ah ... How about you? Are you making plans to survey the road?"

  He shook his head. “Not yet. This route agrees with the maps so far. Maybe beyond the Big Bend country."

  "Big Bend?"

  "Where this trail meets the Arkansas River. Shoofly's detachment will turn back there, and we'll cross over into Mexico. I'll send my report back with him."

  "Do you have faith in Shoofly? What if he's not trustworthy?” She remembered how wrong they'd been about Captain Stott.

  "I'll code the reports—he'll understands how important that is.” Tyler turned his hat in his hands. “What have you found out lately?"

  "I'm not sure.” She hesitated. “I can't figure Alizar out. He has reason to be a rebel, but he won't admit to it."

  "You spend enough time with him. Sitting around the campfire, taking walks, riding together—you ought to know him pretty well by now."

  She objected to his snide tone. “You've been spying on me!"

  "No, I just thought you would have real information by now."

  "I'll write you a report. Meanwhile, let's not be seen talking."

  "Fine with me—” He tensed suddenly, looking past her.

  She swung around. “Alizar!"

  The Spaniard ambled closer, giving Tyler a wary look. “Señorita." He politely removed his hat. “Señor O'Donnell, I understand you plan to survey the road."

  "Nothing elaborate. Minor adjustments to our maps need to be made from time to time.” Tyler's gaze remained steady.

  "It's true you work with the U.S. Army, then?"

  Tyler hesitated. “For the time being."

  Amy recognized a touchy situation. Alizar was not stupid. The last thing she needed was for him to grow curious about her connections with Tyler. She stepped between the two men. “What do you think of my gown, Alizar? Would it be suitable for the dance?"

  His Latin eyes brightened as his gaze flicked over the blue velvet and settled on her face. “It will be all the more beautiful for your wearing of it. Tonight I intend to dance only with you."

  "I shall look forward to that.” She took Alizar's arm, gently turned him away and led him toward the Lorenzo's wagon.

  Behind her, she could almost feel the air crackling with Tyler's silent displeasure.

&nb
sp; * * * *

  Jeb swung the axe against the trunk of the sapling. The tree shuddered, sending vibrations up his arms. Another chop, and the small hickory wavered, then toppled to the ground. Without pause, he attacked the branches and the top, grateful that his strength had returned at last. It wasn't for nothing the sickly easterners swarmed to the frontier to restore their health. He could testify, himself, to the wholesomeness of the prairie.

  He carried the log back to camp and dropped it with the others beside the wagons. Council Grove offered the final chance to cut axles and whippletrees and other wagon parts to take along for emergencies. To be stranded in the desert with a broken wagon could prove deadly, and Pa had never let that happen.

  He dropped the log in the shade of a broad walnut tree and straightened, working the kinks out of his back. The lofty trees and the clear-running springs in this park appealed to him, and if he ever settled anywhere, this would be a dandy spot. In fact, with the growing traffic along the Santa Fe Trail, it could use a good trading post. If he ever cleared his name with the law, he'd have to give that some thought.

  Jeb squatted to peer under one of the wagons. “How's it comin’ under there? You got enough rawhide to finish the job?"

  Tyler's reply was strained. “I do if you stop dragging poles into camp. I can only sling so many of them under here."

  "Better to have too many than too few.” Jeb fished in his pocket for a chaw. “They'll bring us a pretty penny south of the Cimarron when wagons start breakin’ down miles from water."

  Hearing a sound behind him, Jeb spun around.

  "Señor Baker?” A young Mexican girl stood there, smiling shyly and holding an axe with a broken handle.

  "Yeah?” How the hell had she snuck up behind him so quiet?

  Her large dark eyes held an imploring expression. Her head didn't reach up to his armpit, but she was full-grown, he could tell. Compared to American women, swathed in layers of garments from neck to ankle, her short skirt and sleeveless blouse left her looking half-undressed. Pudgy arms were bare and breasts like ripe peaches bulged out of the top of her chemise.

  She held up the axe. “Broken. Also, carreta is broken. We cannot go until we fix. We cannot fix without la hacha."

  "Uh ... sure.” Jeb took the axe from her. “Let's see what we can do."

  Jeb rummaged in the wagon for a new handle and replaced her broken one easily—it was, he told her, just a matter of having the right tools for the job. As he worked, she hovered over him, her brown eyes following his every motion. Something about her round merry face, dimpling cheeks, and plump curves worked powerfully on him. She was a real honey pot.

  When he finished pounding the axe head onto the handle, he tested the fit by chopping a few pieces of firewood. “You soak the workin’ end all night in water, hear? It'll swell up and fit like all one piece."

  "Gracias.” She moved closer, reaching for the axe.

  She was a prime female, he thought, musky as a she-fox. He grinned at her. “You dancin’ tonight?"

  She drew back her hand, giggling.

  "Dance? Baile?" He wished he knew more Spanish.

  "Sí, maybe so."

  He pointed to her then to himself. “Dance?"

  She lowered her thick lashes. “My brother, Raul. Ask him.

  "Maybe I'll take a look at that carreta of yours, see what's wrong with it, too. Raul can't hardly say no ‘bout you dancin’ with me if I get your cart rollin’ on both wheels, now can he?"

  She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. He wondered how much of his English she understood. Her lashes swept up to reveal melting dark eyes, bold and knowing in the ways that mattered. A quiver started in his loins. He reached out to touch the waves of black hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  "Jeb!” A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  He flinched violently, reaching for the knife on his belt. “By the eternal—Tyler! Why are you sneakin’ up on me outa nowhere?"

  "I called your name three times. You want me to stow all the poles under the wagons or keep some out?"

  "It don't matter—you decide. I gotta go over to this girl's camp a minute and see about a repair job. This here's ... What's your name, honey? Cómo se llama?"

  "Rosa Orlando."

  Jeb introduced Tyler, then tugged her away with him. This was one girl he had no desire to share. “Let's go, Rosa."

  * * * *

  Shaded candles and grease lamps studded the wagon-corral, flickering like a circle of fireflies. Blazing logs in a central fire threw a wider pool of light. As the teasing melody of a fiddle began to weave through the chunk-chungs of a guitar and the hollow thumps of an Indian drum, dancers flocked to the lighted area like moths. Sitting in clusters around the area with their backs to the dark, guardians and parents puffed on their corn shuck cigarrillos and watched.

  Jeb slipped his arms around Rosa's waist and pulled her close, moving to the rhythm of the dance. As she stumbled over his foot, he tightened his hold on her. He edged her away from the press of other dancers, then swung her off the ground in a complete spin. She squealed shrilly, clinging to his shoulders.

  He set her down. “By jings, we're good. Dance three tunes and already we're cuttin’ didoes. Dance much?"

  She shook her head, flashing a dimpled smile. “Two times."

  "Really? How old are you?"

  "I have fourteen years."

  "Well, you're catchin’ on quick.” He guided her around the circle in a wild sort of polka.

  Such celebrating wasn't new to Jeb. Though he'd shunned the gala balls in St. Louis, he'd always taken part in the frontier revelry that broke out whenever lonesome folks got together. On occasion, he'd even swigged his portion of rotgut whisky and joined in a mountain man stomp around a campfire. But a Mexican baile beat any way he could think of for entertainin’ a gal in public.

  For the first time since he'd sworn off liquor, he could truthfully say he wasn't cravin’ a drop.

  Jeb hugged Rosa tighter still, glancing around for her brother, Raul. Across the circle, Amy danced with a soldier as Alizar tried to cut in. Shoofly sat on the sidelines, sharing a bottle of brandy with a few of the soldiers. Two caballeros vied for Felicité's attention as she sat with her duenna.

  No sign of Rosa's brother.

  Jeb swept her into the wedge of darkness between two wagons on a corner. He sat down on the tongue of the wagon and pulled her down on his lap. “I have a present for you.” He reached inside his shirt and brought out the embroidered rebozo he'd swapped for that day. “Here you go."

  "Ahh, qué bonito! Very pretty.” She draped the long rectangular shawl about her shoulders.

  When he nuzzled her sweet neck, she didn't stop him. “You my sweetheart, Rosa?"

  She smiled, fondling the tassels along the bottom of the rebozo. The cool light of the moon touched the curve of her cheek and brow. Her blue-black hair fell to her hips and he stroked its length, twining the strands between his fingers.

  "Sí.” She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting the starlight.

  He held her face between his hands and kissed her on the mouth. She didn't kiss him back, but she didn't push him away, either. When he released her, she sat staring at him, her eyes round and innocent. She probably had a lot to learn, he decided, and it would be his pleasure to teach her.

  "Te quiero." He hoped he said it right. “Do you love me, too?"

  She flashed him a big smile and rubbed her soft cheek against his.

  * * * *

  Tyler didn't mind guard duty. It was an excuse to get away from the festivities—none of which appealed to him as long as Amy remained out of reach. A cool breeze brushed his face, carrying the odor of livestock. In the bright moonlight, the humped bodies of draft animals at rest littered the plains over a vast area. Some oxen still mozied along cropping grass, but the majority had buckled their knees under them and grunted down to chew their cuds.

  Tyler nudged his horse forward around the base of a pine-studded kn
oll, watching for unusual motion and activity. According to Jeb, the chances of having the stock stampeded by Indians improved the farther southwest they traveled. He knew that an Osage village existed nearby, so it behooved him and the other guards to keep a sharp watch.

  The distant sound of tinny music faded away as he put the knoll between himself and the encampment. From the higher ground, he could see several caballeros and a few army soldiers making their patrols. So far, peace reigned on the prairie.

  He wished he had that much peace within himself. Even though it had been his idea for Amy to snoop around the Mexicans, it still grated to see her get so chummy with the Spaniard. He was losing her, he felt sure, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

  It was his own damn fault. She'd been right when she said he took duty too seriously. He'd always put it before all else, placing his own happiness way the hell down his list of priorities. If it weren't for the army and Houston's confounded mission, he'd be the one walking her to the wagon, dancing with her, kissing her fiercely in the dark, holding her hard against his aching body.

  A cloud moved in front of the moon, obscuring all but the nearest cattle. Tyler headed his horse down into the dark valley, cursing the driving ambition that had lured him into this ill-fated mission.

  * * * *

  Sitting on the blanket-covered log, Amy put her fan to vigorous use.

  Alizar brought her a cup of water, then sat down beside her. “Perhaps your shoes have holes?"

  "Holes? No...” She cast him a questioning look as she sipped her water.

  "From dancing."

  She laughed. “My shoes aren't worn out, but I am."

  "You enjoy the good time?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Then you will love Santa Fe—there is always music, singing, dancing."

  "Good. I hope to settle there. Tell me, Alizar, if I wanted a large ranch near Santa Fe, what would I have to do to get it? Would they allow it?"

  "It depends.” He bent to light his slender cigarrillo in the flame of a sputtering grease lamp. “Many foreigners live in Nuevo Méjico. Traders, mostly. More than a few have married our women and built homes. Nearly all are waiting to see if citizenship will be granted. It takes years sometimes."