celebration like Washington’s Birthday?
He was no stranger to women from Mexico with their thick dark hair and their chocolate eyes, but he’d been flummoxed with her. When he had glanced from the dog up into her face, he’d actually been tongue-tied like a dull-witted greenhorn. She was that entrancing, with her dark eyes widened in surprise and that slightly shocked look on her face because he had dared to touch her, even though it was obvious he was trying to help. He’d thought at first her hair was black, slicked back as it was into a fancy coil at her neck. Then as the dog had her moving this way and that he saw that no, it was the darkest, richest shade of brown he’d ever seen.
And then he’d gone and goaded her. Unfortunately, he understood why. Guess he was just foolish enough to want to make an impression on her—even a poor one, if that’s what it would take to get noticed. But damned if she hadn’t come right back tilting that soup on him. He grinned just thinking about it—had caught himself stifling that grin half the day whenever the memory popped into his head. As proper as she appeared on the surface, underneath she was a handful—a challenge he couldn’t ignore in spite of the fact he was only here one more day. She was an enticing splash of color in an otherwise drab and dusty town, and he wanted to see her again. He’d dressed as though she might show up, which meant he’d taken a bath, cut his hair and shaved. If she did appear, she probably wouldn’t recognize him anyway.
Jake walked to the bar and watched a group of volunteers raise their mugs as one, guzzle down their beer and then slam their mugs on the table.
“Have fun tonight because we’ll be out there again at daybreak if Bowie orders it,” one man said.
“I’m too tired to heft my fork,” complained another.
“That’s not because you’re tired, Ward. You’re jest drunk.”
“Maybe we should have thrown in with Travis instead.” Ward continued to complain. “Digging a well isn’t my idea of soldiering. Besides, there’s no way we can defend this place.”
Suddenly, a tall commanding figure in buckskin loomed over them. He slammed his fist on the table making the mugs jump an inch high off the table. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that the cockroaches in Mexico have ears?”
“This is Texas, Davey, uh, I mean Mr. Crockett.” A young soldier reddened instantly.
“Not yet it ain’t, but it will be.” Crockett grinned at him, and then spoke in a quieter voice. “North side first. The rest of the walls will hold. And,” he continued, his eyes narrowing on Ward, “Bowie might be ailing, but he ain’t stupid. He’s got his reasons for his orders.” He straightened and headed for a table closer to the music—a table where Travis now sat.
Travis caught Jake’s gaze and motioned for him to join them also.
Jake bought a shot of whiskey and then sat down with the lieutenant colonel.
“Glad you made it, Dumont. May I introduce David Crockett?”
Jake nodded to the man. He’d heard of him. “Enjoy your stint in congress?”
“Not enough to go back.” Crockett took a swig from his mug of beer. “Lot of talk that didn’t amount to anything.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Same as everyone else. Looking for a piece of heaven to stake a claim. Somewhere with good hunting and with bluebonnets that have an ear for good fiddlin’,” he added with a wide grin. “And you?”
“Just passing through,” Jake said noncommittally, glad when Crockett let the subject drop. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He was among his own element here and appreciated it. His recent visit home, if he had such a place anymore, had opened his eyes. Ten years was a long time to be gone from Charleston. He no longer fit in there—but then he never really had.
A boy stood on a nearby table and finished lighting the last of the candelabras overhead when a gust of cold air had the newly lit candles flickering wildly. Jake looked up to see what had caused the breeze. The view was like a gut punch. His señorita.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she slipped the heavy blue cloak off her head and let it settle on her shoulders. A high silver comb held in place a black lace scarf over her hair knot, and small silver earrings shimmered daintily from each lobe. She wore a maroon silk dress trimmed with black bows that offered enough of a view of creamy skin at her throat to be enticing but not risqué. The material rustled in a very feminine way as she followed the man she came with, maneuvering gracefully between the tables and chairs. Another Tejano protected her from the back. Jake recognized the two as those he’d seen in Travis’s office yesterday.
“Well, would you feast on that,” Crockett said, letting a low whistle slip through his teeth.
“I am.” Amusement laced Travis’ voice. “And it looks like every other young buck in this cantina is, too. Even Dumont here.”
Crockett met Jake’s gaze. “I didn’t think Seguín would bring that cousin of his in here.”
Jake’s ears caught on the word cousin with a mixture of relief. Not her husband, then, or fiancé. “Why not?” he asked.
“You might use your eyes, Mr. Dumont,” Travis said. “Look at her. Fine bones. She’s not a mixture at all, she’s a lady. Spanish aristocrat. Seguín’s lineage goes way back. Someone like that usually is kept away from the commoners.” He leaned forward as if to tell a great secret. “That would be us. This old cantina could get a bit rowdy for her.”
“I get the feeling she can take care of herself,” Jake said, thinking of his earlier encounter with her. At least she didn’t have hot soup with her now.
Spying them, Juan made his way first to Travis’s table and removed his hat. He was dressed well for such a dusty spot on the map, Jake thought as he glanced over the silver buttons on his shirt collar and the wide satin sash around his waist that matched the señorita’s dress.
“Any more news?” Juan asked in a low voice.
Travis shook his head.
Jake kept his gaze trained on the woman, wondering if she recognized him. If she did, she didn’t acknowledge it.
Juan murmured something in Spanish to the young man with him and they headed to a table across the room.
As the others talked, Jake settled back in his chair and watched the woman. She radiated confidence and something else that tugged at him. The two men who sat with her laughed at something she said and he felt a stab of envy that they enjoyed her wit when he couldn’t. She had charmed them to the point of being lapdogs—something he’d never let a woman do to him. He’d learned his lesson well. He raised his glass to an unseen past and caught the flash of her eyes as they met his. Quickly she looked away, raising her fan to her cover her face.
Crockett let out a laugh and slammed down his beer mug, spraying the table. “Dumont, you’ve got more guts than I took you for. She’s way out of your league. She’ll cut you down to size with that sharp hair comb of hers.”
Jake motioned to a woman serving drinks at the next table.
“You’re out of your mind, Dumont,” Travis said. “Juan will never let you near her.”
“All the better,” he mumbled, wondering what the hell he was doing. “I’m up for a dare. Besides, I don’t know that he’ll have the final say.”
“You’re a cocky son of a gun,” Crockett said. “It’ll be entertaining to watch you get your balls mashed.”
“Thanks for your overwhelming support.”
The serving woman placed a glass of red wine in front of Señorita Torrez. She raised it to Juan, ready to thank him, only to see him scowl and shake his head. Searching the candlelit room, her gaze finally collided with Jake’s and held. She recognized him all right. Awareness pulsed between them. He gave