River to Cross, A (12 page)

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-click
ed. 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. Hammering 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 kno
ts 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 at 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.”

She glanced around. It
was
clean, everything made neat and tidy. Sourly she wished Jake were sloppy. But no. Mr. Perfect had folded the blankets and stacked their bedrolls near the door, ready to be loaded on the horses. Not a thing was out of place. Of course, there wasn’t much to be out of place.

“Drink,” he said.

She made a face, but did as he asked, telling herself if it didn’t kill her first, it might help, and that drinking the coffee had absolutely nothing to do with the smile lurking in the back of his eyes. Fortunately the coffee tasted better than it smelled, and after a few swallows, her stomach settled down as if it, too, knew better than to buck this man. Even the headache seemed to ease. She drained the cup.

“More?” she groaned when he filled it again.

“Just one, and that should do it.”

The sudden softness in his voice surprised her. Swallowing her protest, she sipped the coffee like medicine. It had been so long since a man fussed over her, she’d forgotten how it felt. She finished it and set the cup down.

She tried to smile back, but failed. With every right to be furious with her, he seemed almost amused and was trying to put
her
at ease. She took a deep breath and plowed on. “Chalk this morning up to my being a nervous widow.”

“I already did,” he said.

Right after breakfast, Jake sat down with his hosts.

“We’re getting ready to leave,” he told Laszlo, and passed him a few bills, apparently more money than Laszlo had seen in a long time. “I want you to know how to reach us if you need to.” Jake wrote down how to contact him, either at Fort Bliss or the Rangers’ Camp Annex.

Laszlo shook his head. “Until your group came, we had no friends in America. None. Now we have four, and three of them are Texas Rangers. I can hardly believe it. We had a little meeting after you went to bed last night and came up with a plan to get you home safely. We’re going with you to the Rio Grande. Once you’re across the river, you will be safe. But getting you there when they’re looking for you—that’s the problem.” Then he looked up at a commotion outside and smiled. “I think our plan has arrived.”

Six Gypsy vardos, ornately painted house wagons, rattled into the clearing and stopped in front of Laszlo’s entrance. One vardo was driven by Gus, another by Fred, both pulled by horses with ribbons tied to their manes.

Laszlo and Jake stepped outside to observe. Fred’s vardo was painted red and white with a purple door and windows, which had curtains. Behind them on horseback sat six men, two with guitars, one with a trumpet, and three women also on horses: Nadia, an older woman, and the girl Gus had flamencoed with.

Laszlo held up an embroidered white smock with long blousy sleeves. “I have one for each of you. Wear them over your clothes and pull your trousers out of your boots. Then you’ll look more like us.” He frowned at Jake. “Anyone can tell you’re Rangers half a mile away—with those shirts, neckties, and knee-high riding boots.”

Jake’s eyebrows flew up when Elizabeth jumped down from Gus’s vardo and twirled into Laszlo’s kitchen. She looked like a different woman. She wore a blue and red polka-dot blouse, a white vest, and a gaudy flowered skirt. Her hair was wrapped in a gold scarf with long ends hanging down her front. She wore a long jangly necklace and gold hoop earrings the size of her fists. Jake couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Laszlo slapped his thigh and laughed. “It’s our Hoopa lady!”

Elizabeth went over and wrapped Jake’s head in a black scarf to hide his hair, knotting it at the back of his neck. Jake swung up on his horse and fell in line with the others.

It was ten miles to the river crossing, and on the way they discussed how to handle any confrontations. They were, Laszlo had advised, on their way to a wedding in Juarez, and looking forward to one of their own soon. On two occasions, Laszlo delivered these words while laughing and nodding toward Jake and Elizabeth. The soldiers laughed and waved them on.

Twice, small patrols of Mexican troops rode by the plodding little caravan—singing, guitars playing. The trumpeter alerted everyone in advance when something out of the ordinary appeared.

Once, alerted by the trumpet playing “Here Comes the Bride,” Jake and Elizabeth ducked inside the middle vardo. A large Mexican patrol with an officer rode alongside and motioned for them to stop.

The conversation outside grew louder and seemed to go on too long for Jake’s comfort. When he heard footsteps coming up the wood steps to the vardo, Jake grabbed Elizabeth and sprawled into a chair. “Kiss me like you mean it,” he said, pulling her onto his lap.

She threw her arms around his neck, and his lips met hers just before the door flew open.

The officer watched for a moment, then shouted out the door, “Head back to camp. It’s not this one, either. Just a man and a woman, necking.” He looked back over his shoulder at Jake and smiled.

When they’d finally reached the Rio Grande, they stopped alongside the river and spread cloths on the grass as though for a picnic. As soon as the road was empty in both directions, they hugged, shook hands, and said their good-byes.

Quickly, Jake, Fred, and Gus collected their weapons, strapped on holsters and ammunition belts. Jake made a stirrup of his hands and boosted Elizabeth into the saddle. “Hurry up. Let’s go. Now!” he called.

Without wasting a minute more, he led them down the riverbank and out into the water. Elizabeth followed him, her heart pounding.

She looked back across the river. The picnic cloths were gone, the bank completely empty now. It was as if they were never there. Following Jake’s advice, the caravan had turned and was already heading up the road for the camp as she and the Rangers got themselves out into the river.

Close to the shore, the water was shallow. Now it was coming higher. With each step of the horse, it got deeper still.

When it rose to her horse’s belly, she cried out, “Jake!”

He swung around. “It’s all right. The horse doesn’t want to drown, either. He’ll swim when he has to. Just hold on tight and he’ll get you to the other side. And keep talking to him, praising him.”