Lonestar Ranger, page 14
"My own quarters," he announced as he allowed them a quick assessment of a luxurious and spacious bedroom. As they returned down the hall he paused in front of a door near the top of the stairs "And here, a guest room, rarely occupied these days." The rooms were immaculately kept, almost unnaturally so. Daniel's gaze swept over each space, taking in the details: the precisely arranged cushions, the dust-free surfaces, the way the drapes hung without a crease. Too perfect.
Daniel stepped into the room. For a guest room it was quite plush, decadently so. A massive four-poster bed, draped in heavy velvet, dominated the space. An ornate rug covered the floor, and a large window overlooked the rolling hills to the west. Adams continued his patter, describing the provenance of the bed, the quality of the fabrics and the armoire.
Though he had listened to little of Adams’ prattling, he certainly blocked him out as he examined the room. He looked into the armoire, seeing a selection of elegant dresses. Judging by their size, he figured they were just about perfect for Lucia. Turning from the armoire, his eyes, quick and precise, darted to the foot of the bed. Beneath the heavy valance, partially obscured, was a thin, braided strand of something dark. It was a rope, roughly cut. He didn’t point it out, didn’t give Adams the satisfaction of knowing he’d seen it. Instead, he simply allowed his gaze to drift to the window. It was slightly ajar, just enough to let in a whisper of the morning breeze, stirring the lace curtains. The air, despite the heavy fabrics, felt fresher here.
She had been here. In this very room, probably held against her will. And she had escaped.
Adams, ever astute, watched Daniel’s eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in his own, but he never let on that he knew they were looking for someone, or something, beyond a mere tour of his grand residence. He maintained his pleasant, slightly condescending air, playing the gracious host.
They finished the tour, descending the stairs, Adams leading them back through the opulent foyer and out onto the porch, bathed now in the full light of the morning sun.
“Where are your hands, Adams?” Monty’s abrupt question cut through the lingering silence.
Adams paused, feigning a moment of thought. “Why, Sheriff, they’re working some cattle out south of here.” Indeed, the faint, overlapping tracks of a dozen or more riders led south from the ranch’s corrals, confirming his words. A convenient alibi.
“How are things back in Uvalde?” Adams asked, shifting gears, his tone effortlessly conversational, as if they were just two men passing the time of day. He truly was a master of pretense.
Daniel decided to drop the news on him to see how he would react. Looking him dead in the eye, his own gaze unblinking. “Lucia Tarrango has gone missing.”
Adams’ posture stiffened for a fraction of a second, an almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes, before his practiced mask fell back into place. “Lucia Tarrango? That poor, beautiful girl? The one that sells the honey? Why, that’s terrible news. I do hope she’s found safe and sound. A vibrant young woman like that, to just vanish... tragic.” He sounded genuinely concerned, a performance so convincing, so devoid of hesitation, that Daniel almost believed him. He was a bit too convincing with the fact that he barely knew who she was, a slight overcompensation perhaps. They had witnessed him offering a proposal of marriage to her more than once.
They exchanged a few more terse pleasantries, hollow formalities ringing in the morning air, before Daniel and Monty mounted and spun their horses to leave the ranchyard. The goodbyes were brief, almost curt, and then they were riding back toward Uvalde, leaving Adams standing on his porch, a solitary, opulent figure against the vast, rugged landscape.
The sun was steadily climbing, the dust rising in a pale cloud behind their horses as they rode. The stillness of the early morning had given way to the chirping of unseen birds and the low hum of the awakening prairie.
“She was there, Monty,” Daniel declared, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.
Monty glanced at him, his brow furrowed. “How do you know? He didn’t give us an inch.”
Daniel’s lips thinned. “Saw the end of a rope poking out from under the bed of that plush room at the top of the stairs. And the window was open in that room.”
Monty digested this, nodding slowly. “So, you think she was there and escaped.”
“That would be my bet,” Daniel affirmed, a grim satisfaction in his tone. “She found a way to slip out that window and climbed down that lattice at the edge of the porch. She’s be on her way home, and Adams’ outfit is out looking for her. That’s why his hands are ‘working cattle out south.’”
“What do you want to do?” Monty asked, his voice hardening, the easy tone gone.
“Soon as Ford’s here,” Daniel replied, referring to Captain Ford from the Rangers headquarters in San Antonio, “we need to ride out to the Tarrango ranch. That’s where this will all blow up, Monty, and that’s where she’ll be. Or where they’ll try to intercept her.”
Monty frowned. “What if they catch her first? Adams’ men have a good head start.”
Daniel clenched his jaw, the thought a cold knot in his stomach. He pictured Lucia, her fierce eyes, her quiet strength, her deep connection to the land that ran like blood in her veins. “They won’t catch her,” Daniel asserted, a fierce defiance in his voice that was part conviction, part desperate hope. “Lucia knows this country too well to be caught.” He hoped.
Chapter Twenty Two
The morning sun was already beating down hard as MacLean and Monty rode at a steady pace toward Uvalde. As they neared the edge of town, two figures emerged, galloping hard towards them. It was Captain RIP Ford, his ramrod straight posture unmistakable even at a distance, and another Texas Ranger, his face obscured by the brim of his hat. Relief, fleeting but potent, washed over Daniel. Ford was a good man, steady as an anvil. He’d ridden hard through the night from San Antonio to get there so early.
They reined in their horses, a flurry of dust and jangling tack. Ford’s eyes, keen and intelligent, met Daniel’s. “MacLean. Monty. He have the Tarrango girl?”
“He doesn’t have her, but she’s been there, Captain.” Daniel’s voice was a deep rasp. “But she got away. She’s a strong one.” He paused, glancing at the vast, sun-drenched landscape unfolding around them. “Captain, Lucia’s kidnapping... her escape... is going to blow the lid off the pot. Besides the lot running with Ortiz, I believe Adams’ own ranchhands will be riding hard after Lucia and will likely continue on to the Tarrango ranch. This isn't just a ranch squabble; it’s a war over the Nueces Valley. And I suspect it’s all coming to a head out at the Tarrango ranch.”
Ford’s jaw tightened. He knew Adams, knew his ambition was as vast and arid as the land he coveted. “You’re probably right. Adams won’t get his hands dirty, but he’ll use his money to get plenty of others to soak theirs in blood.”
“That’s our assessment, Captain,” Daniel affirmed, his gaze steely.
Ford nodded, making his decision. “Alright.” He motioned the ranger riding with him. “This is Ranger Bennings, by the way. Let’s ride. Set a hard pace, gentlemen. There might not be any time to waste.”
The four riders spurred their horses, cutting across country toward the trail leading to the Tarrango ranch. The sun would be high overhead before they reached the ranch. Every mile closer felt like another turn of the screw, tightening the tension in the air. He thought of Lucia, her fierce independence, and her connection to the land. Had she escaped the men who had been sent to capture her? He also thought of her father, Mateo, whose distrust of white lawmen ran as deep as the Nueces River itself. A man like Mateo, cornered, would fight to the last breath. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
They topped the last rise above the Tarrango ranch. The world below them unfolded in a sudden, brutal tableau. The Tarrango ranch, usually a beacon of order and quiet industry, was a maelstrom of chaos. Acrid smoke billowed from the corrals and barns, and the sharp, irregular crack of gunfire echoed across the valley. Before they could charge down into the fray, a fusillade erupted from the mesquite thicket to their left. Shots whizzed past, kicking up dust around their horses’ hooves.
“Ambush!” Ford bellowed, already dismounting and pulling his rifle.
They scrambled for cover, finding what little protection the rocky outcrop offered. Daniel, Monty, Ford, and Bennings were pinned down, unable to advance or retreat. From their elevated, yet exposed, position, they could only watch the horror unfold below.
The Tarrango family and their vaqueros were making a stand, but it was a desperate one. Daniel squinted through the glass, scanning the ranchyard below. He saw Mateo, fighting like a grizzled lion, firing from behind an overturned wagon, his movements slow but resolute. Isabella, her apron stained with dust and powder, was handing loaded rifles to Diego, who, despite his youthful inclination for modern life, fought with the primal fury of a cornered animal. The vaqueros, loyal to a man, were scrambling from one position to another. They were outgunned and outnumbered. In addition to Ortiz and his rabid pack of wolves, they were facing the men from Adams’ own ranch as well.
A cold dread seeped into Daniel’s gut. He scanned the embattled ranch, his eyes desperately searching for a flash of red shawl, a glimpse of dark hair. Lucia. She wasn't among them. Where was she? Had she been recaptured? Was she... No, he wouldn't let that thought take root. Still, the sight of her family fighting a losing battle, combined with her absence, twisted a knot of fear in his stomach. They were fighting against overwhelming odds.
“My god,” he whispered, passing the glass to Monty. “She’s not there.”
Monty scanned the scene below as well. “They’re being overrun.”
“We gotta move!” Daniel insisted.
“We’ll be ridin’ right through a crossfire, Mac!” Ford retorted, his voice grim, but his eyes never leaving his scope. “They’d cut us to ribbons.”
Just as despair threatened to set in, a figure appeared out of an arroyo behind them. A horse, ridden bareback, a figure low against its neck, galloped towards their position. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. It was Lucia.
She slid from the horse’s back before it had fully stopped, her movements fluid and utterly devoid of hesitation. Her clothes were torn, her hair disheveled, but her eyes blazed with an untamed fire. Without a thought for the Rangers, the gunfire, or the battle raging below, she ran to Daniel, throwing herself into his arms.
Daniel, caught off guard, instinctively wrapped his arms around her, a protective urge he hadn’t felt since Allie. Her body, taut with adrenaline and exhaustion, trembled against him. He felt the warmth of her, the scent of dust and wild honey clinging to her. It was a brief, visceral embrace, lasting only seconds, but in that moment, the world narrowed to just them.
She pulled back, her hands still gripping his dust-stained shirt, her eyes locking onto the chaos at her ranch. “My family,” she whispered, her voice raw, but then it hardened, gaining steel. “We have to go down there! They’ll be slaughtered!”
Ford, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward. “Miss Tarrango, we’re pinned. Any move from this position is suicide.”
“Suicide?!” Lucia’s voice rose, edged with fury and grief. “Look at them! My family is dying for our home! My father, my mother, Diego... We can’t just watch!”
“If you haven’t noticed, little lady,” Ford responded. “We’ve got a battle of our own. Those are real bullets flying past our own ears!”
She turned back to Daniel, her gaze pleading, commanding. “Please, Ranger. You saw how I rode. There’s a way. A arroyo, it will shelter us. We can circle around, come in behind them. Hit them from behind where Ortiz’s men are weakest.”
Ford listened, his expression thoughtful, but still skeptical. “A flanking maneuver? From here? It’s a gamble, a big one.”
“It’s our only chance, Captain!” Daniel interjected, his voice firm, his eyes on Lucia. He saw not just desperation in her, but a clear, tactical mind at work. She knew the land, and she was desperate to join the fight, even while fleeing for her life. “She knows this land better than any of us. If she says there’s a way, I believe her.” He remembered her tenacity, her resourcefulness. If anyone could find a path, it was Lucia.
Ford weighed his options, the rapid crackle of gunfire from below a constant, brutal reminder of the ticking clock. He looked at Lucia, truly looked at her, at the fierce determination in her eyes. “Can you shoot?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly calm.
Lucia met his gaze unflinchingly. “As good as any man.”
A flicker of respect, perhaps even admiration, crossed Ford’s face. He nodded, then, with a decisive movement, unbuckled the heavy Colt from his hip and the ammunition belt. The worn leather creaked as he offered it to her. “Then take this. Vaya con Dios.”
Lucia took the belt, her fingers firm as she buckled it around her slender waist. The weight of the revolver seemed to settle naturally against her hip. There was no time for thanks, only action. “Follow me,” she said, her voice clear and strong, and without another word, she was back on her horse, urging it forward, not towards the ranch, but into the winding arroyo she had just ridden out of.
Daniel and Monty didn't hesitate. They swung into their saddles, leaving Ford and Bennings to hold the precarious position, drawing what fire they could from Ortiz’s fighters. Daniel tightened his grip on his rifle, a thrill of adrenaline, cold and sharp, coursing through him. This dash around the flank, hitting an enemy from an unexpected quarter, was a maneuver he knew intimately from his days riding with JB Hood’s rough-and-ready cavalry. He recalled the brutal elegance of it, the shockwave it sent through enemy lines.
Lucia led the way, a blur of motion through the dust. The arroyo snaked and twisted, offering cover, then revealed fleeting glimpses of the battle below. Daniel watched her, fascinated. She navigated the treacherous terrain with supernatural ease, her body moving in perfect harmony with the horse, a living extension of its power. And then, he saw it. As they burst from cover at a narrow gap, a cluster of Ortiz’s men, focused on the ranch, turned, startled. Before they could react, Lucia, without breaking stride, drew Ford’s Colt. The shot was precise, instantaneous. A man stumbled, clutching his chest.
They burst out of the arroyo, directly into the flank of Ortiz’s men, a spearhead of fury and righteous wrath. Daniel emptied his repeater, Monty’s shotgun roared, and then Lucia, riding like a dervish, fired again, her aim unwavering. She was a force of nature, untamed and deadly, a woman fighting for her family, her land, with the ferocity of a wildcat. Daniel had seen men in battle, seen courage and desperation, but in Lucia Tarrango, he saw something that stirred a deeper current within him, a respect that bordered on awe. They rode into the fray, a storm of lead and fury, hoping to turn the tide of a desperate battle.
Chapter Twenty Three
Their burst from the arroyo, hitting Ortiz’s flank with the force of a spring uncoiling, brought chaos down upon the attackers. The surprise was absolute. Lucia’s shots were deadly, matching those of MacLean and Montgomery.
They poured into the fray, a sudden, devastating wedge, disrupting the attackers’ formation. Panic rippled through Ortiz’s ranks. Men who had been focused on the main assault on the hacienda now found themselves under fire from a direction they believed was safe. They were caught between the Tarrango vaqueros rallying from the front and this new, fearsome assault from their side.
It was in that initial, furious charge that a sharp crack rang out, too close. Daniel, already leaning low in the saddle, saw Lucia flinch. She grabbed at her shoulder, her mare stumbling as she lost her balance, pitching her into the dust. She landed hard in the thick, thorny scrub, the Colt Ford had loaned her skittered from her grasp.
“Lucia!” Daniel roared, his voice like gravel scraping stone. Without a second thought, he leapt from the saddle, his rifle in his left hand. He hit the ground running, drawing and firing his Colt at the nearest attacker. He covered the ground between them in a few frantic strides, his eyes scanning for another shooter.
Lucia, even before he reached her, was already scrambling. Her fingers searching the dirt and brush for her fallen pistol. She found the grip, scooped it up, and rushed to duck behind a sun-baked rock outcrop just as another shot whined past, sending chips of stone splintering beside her head.
Only a second behind her, Daniel dropped beside her, shoving her further into the meager cover. His experienced eyes quickly assessed the situation. Her left sleeve was torn, a dark, blossoming stain spreading across the fabric just above the elbow. It was a shallow, painful graze, not a disabling wound, but enough to have knocked her from her mount.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough with concern, his eyes still scanning the area, his pistol held steady. “You hit anywhere else?”
She pushed herself up, wincing but defiant. “I’m fine,” she bit out, her breath ragged. “Keep fighting.”
Daniel gave her a hard, quick look. “Just a graze, then. Good.” Holstering his pistol, he leveled his rifle at the men rushing their position. One of them fell as Monty poured lead into them from a position to their left, causing them to hesitate. Daniel and Lucia fired in unison, both taking down an advancing man. He could see that their attack on Ortiz’s flank had caused the tide to turn. The vaqueros, seeing their flank secured and the arrival of allies, were pressing forward with renewed vigor, their battle cries echoing the resolve of their ancestors. Monty continued laying down suppressive fire.
Daniel and Lucia, huddled behind the rock, became a small, deadly two-man army. Daniel, with his unerring aim, picked off targets with precision, each shot finding its mark. Lucia, despite her injury, used the cover to good effect, her keen eyes spotting movement, her pistol snapping off quick, accurate shots. The attackers began to break, turning to flee like scared mutts.
