Читать книгу The Rebel and the Lady - Kathryn Albright - Страница 9

Chapter Four

The next morning Victoria headed to the hospital, determined to put Jake Dumont out of her mind—not an easy task. Whenever she thought of him, she remembered the way her heart had raced while dancing and how safe she had felt in his strong arms. Never had she met a man so sure of himself, so sure of his ability to get what he wanted. And for a moment last night, it seemed he wanted her.

With a quick sign of the cross over her breast she thanked God she had found out his true character—selfish and arrogant. That she had even contemplated what his kiss would be like upset her now. She’d looked at his lips and heat raced up her cheeks. And he had known what she was thinking. That irked her all the more.

Today it was good there were more important needs to occupy her thoughts.

When she entered the hospital, Dr. Pollard was engrossed in a conversation with another man. He noticed her entrance and introduced her.

“This is Doctor Southerland, Miss Torrez. John, Miss Torrez is new in town. Her cousin, Juan, is in charge of the Tejano regiment.”

She murmured a greeting. “I am here to collect the soup kettle.”

“Of course. It’s there on the table. Thank you.” He turned back to his conversation as she walked across the room. “I’d like you to look at Bowie, John. I’m not sure if it’s pneumonia or maybe something else.”

“Be happy to. Where is he?”

“He has moved into the fort. I’ll take you to him.”

Victoria picked up the empty kettle and followed them down the stairs. Jim Bowie was sick? Too sick to lead? She wondered if Juan knew.

Once outside, she watched the doctors stride to the long row of barracks used by the men. The day was overcast, the cloud cover offering a scant measure of warmth as she started once more across the yard. Men were digging a well in the open plaza. Others worked on the north wall, adding materials to reinforce it. She was glad to see some preparation finally taking place.

She paused for a moment to watch, noting the few men who stood around the workers, offering their advice but not helping with the manual labor. How could they be so lazy when Santa Anna was on his way?

Not at all like the broad-shouldered man in the midst of them who worked twice as hard as the others. He had removed his shirt, and the sweat gleamed across his back despite the chill in the air. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged as he raised a heavy log and positioned it, holding it while others lashed it together with the other beams for support. He called orders to the men, coordinating the entire process until he could step away from the log.

Realizing suddenly that she stared, she gripped the kettle and prepared to leave. With one more glance, she saw the man lean over, hands on his knees, and drag in several deep breaths. Straightening, he swiped the dark lock of hair from his eyes and she recognized Jake Dumont.

At that exact moment he noticed her. Slowly, without taking his gaze from her, he reached for a shovel that leaned against a mound of dirt. His face—so closely shaved the night before, now had the dark stubble of a new beard on his square jaw. She took a deep, rather unsteady breath at the vision he created—the dark hair sprinkled across his chest tapered to a line that disappeared into his buckskin pants.

Her eyes snapped back to his cool blue ones. He regarded her silently as heat suffused her face. She readjusted the kettle on her hip. She’d seen men work before and knew they were more comfortable at times without their shirts. So why did seeing his bare chest do crazy things to her insides—things that had never happened before? She clenched her hands around the iron rim. Remember that he thinks only of himself, she told herself. You cannot trust him.

The corded muscles of his arms flexed as he dropped his shovel and started toward her. “Señorita Torrez. We need to talk.”

He stopped long enough to shrug into his shirt and slip on his hat before grasping her arm and leading her away from the others.

“Look at me that way again and everyone will know what you want.” His voice was low in her ear, nearly a growl.

She jerked from his strong grip. “You flatter yourself, señor. I was amazed to find an Anglo like you without a burn. That is all.”

“Right,” he said dryly.

“Well, you are so careful to protect yourself from the discomfort of a bullet. I imagined you would feel the same way about the sun.”

“Very funny—especially with it being winter. However, it’s not the sun that is scorching me right now.”

“Oh?” she said sweetly sarcastic.

“No. More the heat from your gaze.”

Flustered at his words, she snapped her jaw shut. He truly was a beast of a man—uncouth and improper.

“I’m surprised you’d be thinking about me at all after I disappointed you last night,” he continued in that smooth voice. “But it’s nice to know you care.”

“Do not twist my words.”

“You’re the one twisting mine—and a few other things, as well, I might add.”

Oh, he really was a wicked man!

He glanced over her and she felt her cheeks flush. She hated that he could create such havoc inside her. It made her feel weak, and she knew she wasn’t a weak person.

“What are you doing here…besides enjoying the view?”

“I came to collect my kettle, not that it is any of your concern.” Her nose went up a notch.

He glanced inside the pot. “Any soup left?”

“Are you hungry or worried I might toss it at you?” she asked with sugary sweetness.

“Take your pick. Either way it would be worth it to have you look at me as you did a moment ago—preferably somewhere less crowded.”

“Oh!” She sidestepped around him, having had enough. “Buenos días, señor!” She started across the plaza.

His low chuckle made her pause midstride even though she suspected he was baiting her with it. She turned back. What was he doing here? He didn’t believe in the cause so why hadn’t he left?

He waited, by his expression amused that she’d returned, but he did not tease her again.

“I am surprised to find you here…helping.”

The planes of his face shifted and took on a certain hardness. “Don’t think it’s anything noble or that I’ve had a change of heart.”

She shook her head quickly—too quickly, belying her words. “Of course not. How naive would that be?”

“My horse isn’t ready for another long trip yet. I’m just passing time—a day or two, until he heals up. Nothing more.”

She indicated the men working at the wall. “You are not one to be idle, then.”

“No. Never have been much of man of leisure. Doesn’t suit me.”

“I’m glad of it. There are too many lazy men about this fort. I’m glad to see you making things ready—preparing.”

“Oh, I aim to please you, señorita. Just for today,” he reminded her.

He was teasing her again, but it was different now—gentler, more amiable. This she could deal with easier than the tension-charged sparring she’d just endured. She let out a relieved sigh. “Just until your horse heals. I understand. Does the wound fester?”

He studied her, his deep blue eyes intent. “If you have a minute, I’ll show you.”

She hesitated. Such casual conversation with a man like him was new to her. Enticing, because he was so different than any man she’d ever met before—more rough, more reckless. Thrilling, too. Her parents, had they been present, would never allow such a conversation to take place. It would not have been proper.

His brow quirked up. “Looks like a war is going on between your ears, darlin’.”

She frowned.

“What worries you?”

“It’s not proper. Juan would not be pleased.”

“Seguín?” He thought for a moment and she was gratified he didn’t tease her again. “Understood. How about if we make sure to stay where we can be seen by others?”

She hesitated, but then nodded. “Sí. That would be acceptable.”

He led her to the open horse corral adjacent to the church. The handful of horses plodding around the pen seemed as aimless as the soldiers who lounged outside. The large enclosure’s adobe back wall doubled as the east wall of the fort and along it, a stall housed a large black stallion at least sixteen hands high. The horse stomped the dirt and whinnied as they approached, kicking up the odor of fresh straw and horse.

“Easy boy,” Jake said soothingly. He ran the flat of his hand over the horse’s neck and withers. An answering shudder vibrated through the beast as it quieted.

Victoria lowered her kettle to the ground and rubbed her arms. She was sure it was coincidence that she’d felt an awareness, too—as if his palm had been on her own skin. Disturbed, she shook the thought from her and stepped closer.

Jake stood near the horse, so that she had to move around him to check the gash on its hindquarters. She pressed the swelling at the stitches, noting the yellow drainage that oozed out. The horse stamped its hoof and snorted.

“Whoa, Fury.”

“Here,” she said, then moved her fingers lower on the gash. “And here, the wound festers, but only slightly.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Yes. A mixture of lard and kerosene to draw out the infection would help. I can make it up for you if you’d like.”

She turned to get his reaction and suddenly noticed how close he was. A full head taller than she, he had successfully enclosed her between the wall and his horse, although, as he’d promised, her skirt could be seen by those lounging the perimeter of the corral. The horse’s massive body blocked the rest of her from view. From here, the straight line of the Anglo’s jaw was all she could see, that and the stubble of beard that coated it.

He kept his palm on his horse, calming it as he met her gaze. “You’re not afraid of this big animal, are you?”

She smiled at such foolishness, tugging on the gold hoop earring in her ear. “I’ve been around horses all my life, señor. Why would I be afraid?”

He leaned closer, and the scent of musk and leather enveloped her.

She lowered her hand.

“You’re not afraid of me, either.” Under the brim of his hat, his eyes darkened. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek with fingers roughened but gentle. His touch left a trail of tingles behind.

Her breath hitched. “Should I be?”

He tilted her face toward his. “Definitely, señorita.”

Her heart beat faster, caught as she was in his spell. “You cannot be trusted to act the gentleman?”

He focused on her lips, his intent now obvious. “Never learned how.”

A lump formed in her throat. He wanted to kiss her. She swallowed hard. It wasn’t proper. She should resist, but she was curious. His lips, set there in the middle of his dark day-old beard looked impossibly soft for someone so tough. How would they feel against hers? How would he taste?

He lowered his mouth to hers. Warmth rushed from his lips to hers, sending heat through her body. Not unpleasant at all, she thought, adjusting her lips slightly to his mouth. He slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer, his mouth firm against hers now, moving, opening…

Her heart raced. The only time she’d been kissed before, she’d been sixteen. Esteban’s fumbling kiss was child’s play compared to this man’s kiss. This was not a sweet request for a mutual sampling, but a demand, hard and full of need. Passion penetrated it—daring her to satisfy her curiosity at her own risk.

Even though continuing might place her teetering on the brink of peril, she was not ready to stop yet. Tentatively she relaxed her lips, allowing his tongue to touch hers. Fire rushed to her center, searing her, melting her resistance. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. Perhaps this was more than she could handle. Suddenly her knees weakened and buckled.

He broke off the kiss and caught her, supporting her effortlessly. He set her from him and stared at her, confusion clouding his face.

Stunned at the intensity of his kiss, she forced herself to straighten, finding her legs beneath her still unsteady. Heat flamed in her cheeks. She covered them with her hands. That had been more than she’d expected.

Without a word, she edged around him and started across the corral.

“Señorita.”

She heard his call, but kept going at a brisk clip. She had to get away from him. Had to think clearly again. He was dangerous. More than she’d ever imagined.

“Victoria!”

Oh, this wouldn’t do—calling after her like a common soldadera. Anyone could hear. Juan could hear. She dragged in a great gulp of cold air and turned to give him a scathing retort.

He held up the kettle. “You forgot this.” As she reached for it, he pulled it close to himself. “I’ll carry it. It’s the least I can do if you’re going to help my horse.”

Thank goodness he did not mention the kiss. Her emotions whirled around her in chaotic images, embarrassment foremost in her mind. “I can manage.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.”

He wasn’t teasing her any longer. His eyes were serious. Her breathing finally slowed to normal. “Thank you.”

He walked beside her as they left the fort and crossed the footbridge over the San Antonio River. She barely noticed the two little boys throwing stones into the water as she hurried across the wooden planks.

“Victoria…about what just happened,” he began.

She swallowed hard and looked straight ahead. “I am sorry for it, Señor Dumont. Please do not recall it.”

“It’s nothing to be upset about.”

“You do not understand.” Part of her was embarrassed, but another part deeper inside was thrilled and that made her all the more dismayed at herself. How could her body betray her like that? “You do not understand,” she repeated.

He put a hand on her arm, gently slowing her steps. “Explain it to me then.”

Now he was kind. What was it about this man that called to her so? “I can’t. It…it isn’t you. I’m angry with myself. What I did would mortify my parents. How could I let you touch me? You’re—you’re not even Catholic!”

He pulled her to a stop. “Now wait a minute. I think I had a little influence on what just happened, too. Don’t shoulder the whole thing like some martyr. And, Victoria, it was just a kiss!”

It was far more than a kiss to her. If he wasn’t affected by it, it just proved how innocent she was and how foolish. Exasperation with him and with herself lent anger to her words. “Oh! You…you… hombre!”

His gaze narrowed.

She was getting worked up to a fine temper but couldn’t seem to stop. “There is nothing nice about you! Do not talk to me anymore. And give me back my kettle.” She faced him and, grabbing hold of the large pot, she tugged it toward herself.

He kept hold of the rim.

The glare she gave him should have burned him to a crisp. He was just too mean to disintegrate into smoke. When she tugged on the pot again, he finally let go.

“Strange,” he said, staring down the street. “Seems awful quiet today. Wonder what’s going on?”

She followed his gaze and for the first time noticed that the gun shop was closed and the milliner’s, too. “Perhaps Lieutenant Colonel Travis has allowed some of the men leave to check on their homes. Juan said he was going to request it first thing this morning.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced and still scrutinized the side streets and yards.

Victoria cleared her throat, drawing back his attention. “I can make it the rest of the way myself,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

He stepped back and tipped the brim of his hat. “I’ll just say good day then, Señorita Torrez. And thank you.”

Conscious that he watched her, she strode down the street, not slowing her pace until she reached Juan’s doorstep. Before she stepped through the portal, she couldn’t help glancing back at him. He’d already turned and headed back to the fort.

“Good,” she murmured to herself although she remained irritated at him. She had important things to consider, and his presence made it difficult to think rationally.

However, once she entered the parlor she couldn’t think of anything but his kiss. The caress had been important to her and it hurt to know Señor Dumont hadn’t been as taken with her as she was with him—even if curiosity had been her initial reason for kissing him. She touched her lips, wondering that she could still feel the insistent press of his mouth against hers. They had been soft…and smooth. Oh, so smooth. Her hands clenched. The hombre!

She walked into the kitchen and let out a shriek.