San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) (33 page)

He gripped her arm, his fingers biting into the
tender flesh, and she squirmed to get away from
him. "What are you talking about-tell me?"

At last she extracted her arm from his grasp,
and she rubbed it gingerly. "I don't keep up
with lost wives."

He took her hand and pulled her down the
hallway, throwing open her door and pushing
her none-too-gently inside. "Now, tell me
where Emerada went, and what you had to do
with her going."

Pauline dropped her gaze, and her bottom
lip quivered, a ploy that had gained sympathy
from other gentlemen in the past. "Why do you
think I would know where she went?"

For the first time Ian noticed Sara sitting by
the window, her glasses resting across the
bridge of her nose and a book across her lap.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Sara," he
said. "I'm worried about my wife."

Sara laid her book aside. "You should be,
Ian. She left the same day you did. That would
be six days ago."

Ian looked at Pauline, feeling guilty for being
so rough with her. "I ask your pardon, Pauline.
I should not have taken my concern for Emerada out on you. Of course you had nothing to
do with her leaving."

"Of course I didn't." She laid her hand on his
arm. "Sara, why don't you leave us for a while.
I need to speak to Ian alone."

"No," the older woman said. "I think "I'll just
stay right here until you tell Ian about your talk
with Mrs. McCain."

Pauline glared at her cousin. "You'd better
not say any more. You'll have Ian thinking the
worst of me."

"He should," Sara said blundy. Her glance
went to Ian. "Ask her what she said to Mrs. McCain, Ian. Ask her why your wife left."

Ian shifted his gaze to Pauline's face. "What
is Sara talking about? Tell me, Pauline," he insisted, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his
stomach. "What did you say to make Emerada
leave?"

Pauline was always at her best when defending her own actions. She raised her head and
glared at Ian. "If you ask me, the woman you
married isn't quite right in the head. If she's
run away, I had nothing to do with it."

Ian stared at Pauline, realizing for the first
time that he could never have married herhe'd always known it deep down. Pauline had
one big flaw: she couldn't see anything past her
own image in the mirror. She was selfish and
vindictive. Emerada was as different from
Pauline as night was from day-Emerada, his
fiery little wife, who would take on the world's
problems and make them her own. Why, then,
had she allowed Pauline to drive her away? It
just wasn't like her.

Ian's eyes narrowed, and he seemed to loom
over Pauline. "Tell me about your conversation
with Emerada."

"Tell him, or I will," Sara said threateningly

Pauline turned on her cousin. "You beast!
How can you care about me when you side
with that woman against me?"

"The truth is," Sara said sadly, "you're not an
easy person to love. The same traits that made
you adorable as a child have turned you into a
selfish, demanding woman now that you are
grown. If you had intelligence to match your
viciousness, you'd be dangerous. As it is, you
are just pathetic."

Ian stood, silently listening. If what Sara said
was true, and he believed it was, Pauline had
driven Emerada away.

Pauline clutched at Ian's coatfront. "Are you
going to let her say those hateful things to me?"

Ian shrugged off her hand. "I am interested only in my wife. Your troubles are your own."

Pauline was so near him she almost felt
faint. It wasn't just Ian's wealth she wanted, although Ian had plenty of that; she wanted him.
"You were supposed to marry me!"

The muscle in Ian's jaw tightened. "I have a
wife."

At this point Sara saw the futility of the conversation. Ian wanted answers, and Pauline
had no intention of giving them to him. "I
don't know where she went, Ian, but Mr.
Glover does. He and I tried to get your wife to
stay until you returned, but she was determined to leave."

"Yes, I'll talk to Hank," Ian said, moving to
the door. "He'll know where she went. She
must be at Talavera!"

"Ian," Sara said, stepping between him and
Pauline. "There was some man, a big Mexican
gentleman who came looking for your wife.
Hank told him where to find her."

Ian held his breath. "Was the man's name
Domingo?"

Sara nodded. "Yes, that was his name."

"Thank God he's with her," Ian said with relief.

"What about me?" Pauline asked, her mouth
turned down in a pout.

"I suggest you get to Galveston and take the
first ship for home. There is nothing for you
here," Ian told her, rushing out the door with
every intention of waking Hank.

It was the first time Emerada had realized that
silence had a sound a deep, empty sound like
echoes from an endless void.

She dipped her bucket into the well and let it
fill with water while she stared at the charred remains of Talavera. The grizzly sight was always
there to remind her how her family had died.

She struggled with the water bucket as she
carried it toward the stable. Her back seemed
to ache constantly from the weight of the child
she carried. She had to find a place to have her
child, but not in New Orleans, because Ian
would find her there.

As Emerada passed the family grave site, she
wished for the hundredth time that she knew
where her father and brothers had been
buried. She needed a place to go to make peace
with them-to grieve for them-to say goodbye to them.

When she reached the stable, she set the
bucket down and rubbed her aching back. She
looked with satisfaction at the scrubbed floors.
She had brushed the cobwebs away and had
pitched hay to the horse. She had made herself
a comfortable bed in the stall next to her horse,
needing to feel the presence of another living,
breathing thing.

Loneliness hung heavy over her, and she
watched the road every day, waiting for
Domingo to come. Emerada realized she
couldn't stay at Talavera much longer or Ian
would find her.

She knew him so well, and there wasn't a
doubt in her mind that he would come after
her. When Ian made a commitment, he would
honor it in spite of any feelings he had for
Pauline Harlandale.

The sun was setting when she poured the
bucket of water in the horse trough. She would
spend another lonely night listening to the
howl of the coyote and the crickets chirping
their age-old song.

She latched the barn door, knowing the
flimsy lock wouldn't keep anyone out if they
wanted to get in badly enough. But if trouble
came, she would hear it and get her gun.

Emerada was not usually afraid of anything,
but she'd had the strangest feeling for the last
two days that someone was watching her. She
hadn't seen or heard anyone; it was just an intuition she had-a feeling that made her skin
prickle.

She fluffed up the hay and laid a thick blanket on top of it. Then she lay down fully clothed
and listened to the lonely night sounds.

"Where are you, Domingo?" she said aloud,
causing her horse to whinny. "I need you here
with me."

Emerada awoke with a start. Someone was
pushing against the stable door, making it
creak and rattle. She glanced at the upper window-it was almost dawn.

Inching forward, she slid her gun from the holster that hung over the railing and moved to
a position where she could easily see whoever
came through the door.

Again the door rattled, and she spoke to the
person on the other side. "Who is there?"

"Emerada, let me in-it's Domingo."

A wave of relief washed over her, and she
pulled the latch and swung the door open. She
rushed to the big man, and his arms enveloped
her in a protective hug.

"Oh, Domingo, I thought you would never
come!"

Domingo patted Emerada's shoulder comfortingly. "Everything has been taken care of in
New Orleans. When I got to San Antonio, a
man named Hank Glover told me where to find
you."

He looked at her questioningly. "Why did you
come back here-and alone?"

She walked along beside him as he led his
horse inside the stable. Now that Domingo was
there she felt safe, and she slid her gun back
into the holster. "I'll explain everything to you
while I make coffee. Are you hungry?"

He nodded. "You make the coffee, and I'll do
the rest," he answered, seeing that the shelves
were stacked with an ample amount of sup plies. "It looks like you intended to stay here
for a while."

Emerada stacked wood and twigs on the embers of the cookfire while she explained to
Domingo what had happened with Pauline
Harlandale, and why she had left Ian.

Domingo shook his head. "You should have
waited to talk to Ian. I have never known you to
run away from trouble. And if this woman is as
bad as you say, Ian would not love her."

"You do not understand. He does love her. By
my foolish behavior I may have prevented Ian
from marrying the woman he loves."

"You have your life in a tangle, Emerada. It
would have been better had you told Ian the
truth about the baby. Why did you let him
think Santa Anna is the father?"

She didn't answer while she filled a pot with
water and scooped coffee into it before placing
it among the glowing embers. "I do not know."

"Go back to San Antonio; tell him the truth.
A man should know when he is to become a
father."

She added more wood to the fire, then
looked at Domingo. "I will never do that. I did
not want him to feel obligated to stay married
to me. But I wanted desperately for the child to
have its father's name." Her shoulders
hunched, and there was misery in her eyes. "I
compromised Ian's future happiness by my
own selfishness."

Domingo was placing fatback in an iron skil let. Then he sat back and looked at her carefully. "How do you know that you are not his
future? I have seen how he looks at you, Emerada. He loves you. A man can tell these things
about another man."

She stood up, dusting off her skirt. "You see
only what you want to see, Domingo. I do not
want to talk about it anymore. I need your
help in deciding where we should go from
here."

For the first time Domingo could remember,
he lost his temper with Emerada. "Where you
should go is back to the baby's father. Think of
the baby. You will need a doctor when the time
comes. I do not believe you have thought this
through."

"I still have at least a month before the baby
will be born, Domingo. But I am so confused.
What do you think I should do?"

"There is only one thing for you to do. Go
back to Ian. He is a good man and deserves better than silence from you."

She didn't want to talk about Ian, so she decided to tell Domingo her fears. "There is
something that has been troubling me. For the
last two days I have had the strongest feeling
that I'm being watched. I think we should
leave as soon as-"

Without any warning the stable door suddenly slammed open, and three men entered,
their guns pointed at Domingo and Emerada.

Domingo jumped up and pushed Emerada behind him, glancing at his gun leaning against
the wall, just out of reach.

"Who are you?" Domingo asked in a threatening voice. "And what are you doing here?"

"You should recognize us," one of the men said with amused laughter. "I have seen you before, and the beautiful senorita." He aimed his
rifle at Domingo's head. "Let me introduce myself and my friends to you. I am Ortega, this is
Chavira, and there stands Martinez."

Domingo squinted in the growing light. "Si, I
know you. You were with Santa Anna."

"And you are the servant who followed like a
burro behind the San Antonio Rose." Ortega
grinned and bowed to Emerada. "Twice I have
had the honor of seeing you dance."

Domingo glanced once more at his rifle,
knowing that if he dove for it, he would leave
Emerada unprotected. "You have not told me
what you want here," he said, reaching for
Emerada's arm to keep her behind him.

Emerada recognized the men, although they
weren't in uniform now. The leader, Ortega,
had never been far away from Santa Anna's
side and had always been rushing about to do
the dictator's slightest bidding. He was a lean
man, with a long, narrow face and deep-set
eyes. His two companions she had never seen
before. They were both heavyset, and one had a
long scar from forehead to chin, making him
look sinister. All three wore leather trousers
and vests and wide-brimmed sombreros.

She stepped from behind Domingo, knowing
the men were up to nothing good. She didn't
want Domingo to be hurt. "Have you come for
me?" she asked, pretending a bravery she was
far from feeling. If she could only distract
them, Domingo might be able to get to his
rifle.

"Si, senorita. It seems Santa Anna has some
unfinished business with you. He asked us to
bring you to him unharmed, but if you make
trouble, we will take him your dead body instead," Ortega said. "Pity Ian McCain is not
with you. Santa Anna wants him real bad."