Lonestar Ranger, page 2
But the gallant Hood of Texas played hell in Tennessee.
The altered portion of the Yellow Rose of Texas as sung by the Texas Brigade was in Daniel McLean’s mind as he ate breakfast and watched how Lila Avery took over with such great expertise when it came to tending for Brent.
He was lucky to have the middle-aged widow to help make his life easier. As he watched her playing and even beginning to teach his son the alphabet, he couldn’t help thinking about how he had gotten to where he was, nor could he put aside the pangs of loneliness that haunted him day and night.
Uvalde was still young in terms of the towns that had sprung up in Texas after the Lone Star State had won its independence in 1836, joined the union in 1845 and then seceding along with its southern neighbors in 1861 not long after the town had put down its roots, but it was growing rapidly and with the help of lawmen to keep order was beginning to thrive.
Having lost Allie back in Seguin, Daniel had endured a defeat worse than Lee’s surrender, but there wasn’t much else that he could do. He charged into San Antonio, found Captain Ford of the Texas Rangers, and had a star pinned on his chest, but he’d never been able to unravel the mystery of who killed his wife.
He’d ridden back to Seguin for Brent, and then they had ridden away from their homestead in the buckboard, bringing Mrs. Avery along with them. They’d kept going until they’d landed in Uvalde, where he hoped to continue looking into whoever killed Allie while he performed his duties as a Ranger.
The civil war had interrupted the idyllic life of his family’s tobacco plantation in Virginia, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness and restlessness. Retracing his path through Tennessee to return home, he’d caught the eye of Allie Covington. In a month’s time they’d married, and done what many from the defeated confederacy had done; they’d Gone To Texas.
After Allie’s death, he’d entered Captain Ford’s office with blood in his eyes, but RIP Ford could see through that to what he knew was a steady man beneath, and it hadn’t hurt that Daniel had ridden with Hood’s Texas Brigade.
Though he often found himself in moments of deep thought, he was, above all, a practical man. Dragging himself out of his reverie, he slid his chair back from the breakfast table and stood.
“Come here, Brent, I gotta go to work,” he growled. A soft voice wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but his son was used to his tone and would have thought something was wrong if that gravel were missing. Daniel stooped to pick up his five-year-old son, who rushed toward him eagerly. “Y’all be good for Miss Lila, ye hear me?”
Brent nodded his head.
“Don’t need you drivin’ her out of her mind. Got it, pard?”
Brent nodded again.
“Let me hear you say it.”
“I got it, pard.” Brent tried his best to match his father’s growl. It was a valiant effort that always brought a smile to his father’s face. He wrapped his arms around Daniel’s neck and squeezed hard. He received the same in return, and then he set the boy back on his feet, which were already in motion as soon as they hit the floor.
“Ought to be back in time for supper tonight,” he said, taking his hat down from the peg by the door. He buckled on his gun belt, scooped up the Winchester saddle rifle from its wooden hooks beside the door, and reached for the door handle. He paused on the front porch after pulling the door closed behind him. The fresh, morning air had the smell of bluebonnets in it, and he breathed in deeply as he started off the steps, crossed the narrow yar,d and stepped into the street.
A dozen strides along, he met Sara Atkins, the school teacher, coming toward him.
“You’re out early this morning,” he commented, tipping his hat and pausing a moment to speak to her.
“Good morning, Ranger MacLean. Lila and I are planning to take Brent on a picnic today, and we wanted to get an early start.”
“Reckin’ y’all are getting’ an early enough start to picnic in San Antonio,” he drawled. A crooked grin formed on his mouth as he spoke.
“What do you know about preparing for a picnic?” came Sara’s retort. She, like several other young ladies in Uvalde, was doing her level best to catch the eye of Daniel MacLean, the town’s most wanted bachelor.
“About that much,” he replied, holding up one hand and pinching the length of the fingernail on his little finger with the other.
“Well, then, Ranger MacLean, I think it’s best you just head on down the street and leave us to planning picnics and the like.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled. “Have a good day, then.”
“You have a good day as well,” she replied with a bright smile.
As he neared the center of town, Daniel stepped up onto the boardwalk and a shady spot in front of the saloon where Sheriff Johnston (Monty) Montgomery could most often be found in the morning, sipping a cup of coffee with his chair tipped back against the wall and his feet up on the rail of the porch.
“Mornin’, Monty,” Daniel growled.
“Mac,” he replied. “Coffee?”
“I might as well have a cup.”
Monty called over his shoulder. “Nells. Could you bring a cup for Mac?”
The scene had been the same just about every morning since Daniel MacLean first rode into Uvalde. Nells already had Daniel’s cup waiting beside the coffee pot. It was less than a minute before the steaming brew was delivered.
“Appreciate it, Nells,” Daniel said in his low tone. Those who weren’t well acquainted with him thought that he was surly and mean. As a Texas Ranger, it didn’t hurt for him to allow most people to continue thinking that. And, if the truth were told, when Daniel MacLean was on your trail, he was surly and mean.
“There’s Lucia,” Monty commented, nodding toward the young Mexican woman driving a small wagon, little more than a cart, behind a team of scrawny mules. She arrived every morning to sell the produce from her father’s ranch. Townspeople came to buy from her pretty regularly, but they stood in a line a block long whenever she came to town with the real Texas gold that her family produced: guajillo honey.
“Suppose she’s got honey today?” Daniel asked.
“We’ll know soon enough.”
The moment Lucia was within speaking distance of the first potential customer on the street, they would call out to ask if she had honey. If the answer was yes, a shout would go up and people would start running. Daniel and Monty heard someone call out, and just as clearly, the negative reply.
“Not today, I guess,” Daniel muttered before taking another sip.
They continued to sip their coffee and watch as Lucia drew adjacent to the saloon porch and brought the mules to a halt. “Good morning, Sheriff; Ranger,” she sang out brightly.
“Good morning,” they each replied.
“Nells?” Monty called over his shoulder again. The routine was the same. Lucia would arrive, and Monty would call out to Nells. Nells would appear in the doorway, and Lucia would ask if she could pull the wagon into the empty lot beside the saloon to sell her goods. Nells would grant her permission, and she would pull into the spot, which was generally reserved for her. Nells had told her many times that she did not need to ask permission every morning, but her answer was always the same. “My family respects your property, Señor Andersen, and we prefer to ask your permission.”
On that particular morning, just as she was getting her wagon set up, Lawrence Adams, a wealthy businessman and the owner of a large ranch not far from town, came riding in. At the sight of Lucia, he veered off course and pulled up beside her wagon to chat.
“You’re lookin’ mighty stunning this morning, Ms. Tarrango.”
“Gracias, Señor,” she responded in an absent tone. This encounter was fairly frequent as well.
“You know that I have a really nice place for you on my ranch,” he suggested. “A woman like you would make a good mother and would know how to help run a household, too.”
Daniel heard the exchange and knew what Adams’ real angle was. It didn’t sit well with him, and he felt his anger start to rise, though he kept it contained.
“Gracias, no, Señor Adams,” she repeated.
“But ma’am, I can...”
“She said no, Mister Adams.” Lila Mitchell called out, interrupting his speech as she and Sara arrived with Brent.
Frustrated by the stand taken by the two women and Lucia’s rejection, he rode his horse around to the hitching rail in front of the saloon, dismounted, tied his horse, and stomped up the steps into the saloon.
Chapter Two
“Nells, I want some breakfast and coffee,” Adams bellowed as he took a seat beside the window just as he always did when he came to town. “Put a rush on it, too. I’ve got a meeting at the bank in thirty minutes.”
From his vantage point in the saloon, he could watch how gracefully Lucia moved and the way she smiled as she sold the goods from the back of her wagon. She was, indeed, very beautiful. She had the special blend of Spaniard and Coahuiltecan natives in her blood, and the combination made her not only beautiful but also produced a slightly exotic look. From the first moment that he’d seen her, he’d wanted her.
So far, she’d shown him little interest. That caused a problem for Lawrence Adams because he was used to getting whatever he wanted. His position in the community and the way that he rode roughshod over everyone had a tendency to get him the things that he wanted as well. He’d learned long before that if you rode hard, most folks would just stay the hell out of the way.
As he watched Lucia through the cloudy glass, he thought of how little her family had and how much he could do for her; for them, if she’d just let him. He could completely alter their lives; make them a wealthy and influential family in the area, under his sponsorship, of course. Besides the goal of gaining conquest over the most beautiful woman in Uvalde and a wide area surrounding it, he had his sights on being governor of Texas, too. With families like Lucia’s supporting him, it might give him the boost he needed.
His musings while eating the ham and eggs suddenly drew up short when he saw how easily Ranger MacLean had inserted himself into what was going on between Lucia and the other women. He hated the way that she smiled at him and turned her head downward in timid flirtation.
It had been only moments before that she had turned him away flat, but her entire being had changed in the presence of MacLean. The group of them was laughing and animated in their conversation. He could only hear the occasional comment from Sheriff Montgomery, who was just outside the door of the saloon, and the occasional sound of laughter. No doubt they were mocking him. The scene was making his blood boil, and his patience was wearing very thin. It wouldn’t be long before he’d have to teach the lot of them a lesson.
Attacking his ham and eggs anew, though not tasting a single bite, he allowed his fuming to develop into a growing rage. He’d like to start by taking down MacLean; however, facing MacLean was no easy thing. People in and around Laredo still talked about how MacLean single-handedly took down Zip Bonner and his three banditos in what most referred to as “brutal serenity,” two words that weren’t often found together, but were aptly descriptive of the calm and methodical method that MacLean dispatched of the outlaws.
MacLean was said to be slow to speak, slower to anger, but lightning quick once he arrived there. Those who had related the stories that Adams had heard said that they wanted no part of being on the other side of the law as long as MacLean was in the area. “No, sir,” one had said, “with McLean around, I’m planning on being right friendly with the law and the good book too. Ain’t no point in arranging an early meetin’ with the devil.”
From what he gathered from the talk, Adams had decided that it would be best not to face him straight to his face. The only chance of winning against Ranger MacLean was to lead him into a trap and spring it with enough firepower to make his speed and daring ineffective.
As he swabbed at the last, juicy remnants of his meal with a biscuit, a smile formed on his face. It wasn’t a smile that was the result of any particular joy or mirth, but one of a more sinister type. He was beginning to form a plan that would help Ranger MacLean meet his maker, leaving him alone with Lucia to do as he pleased.
He was certain that once Lucia had grown accustomed to what he could provide for her and her family, she would settle in and be a right nice wife, not to mention the most beautiful companion to stand by his side as he made his run for governor.
His smile turned into a full-fledged grin as the name of the man that he needed in order to help bring MacLean down suddenly popped into his mind. Though he was a bit wary of Marco Ortiz, he was pretty certain that money would speak loud enough to convince the bandito and his gang to help him out. Besides, with MacLean out of the way, Marco was free to do as he liked. If the two of them could come to some sort of mutual agreement that served both of them, then all the better.
Lawrence Adams downed the last of his lukewarm coffee in one gulp and slid his chair back. Though MacLean and Montgomery had moved on to the sheriff’s office, the stage station, or some other locale on official business, Lila, Sara, and MacLean’s boy, Brent, were still lingering around Lucia. As much as he wanted to make another attempt, he knew that it was best to just allow things to settle and wait for his plan to develop.
After tossing a coin beside his plate on the table, he pushed open the swinging doors of the saloon, crossed the porch, and then the street before continuing on his way to the office of Isaac William Benson, Attorney at Law, leaving his horse tied at the rail in front of the saloon for the time being. His hope was that by the time his meeting was over, he’d have another opportunity to talk to Lucia. As much as he liked the idea of strong-arming Daniel MacLean, if Lucia would listen to reason and come along of her own free will, then he wouldn’t have to go to such great lengths as signing a deal with the devil; in that particular case, in the form of Marco Ortiz.
Lawrence Adams pushed through the heavy wooden door of Isaac William Benson’s office, the scent of old paper and stale cigar smoke immediately assaulting him. Benson, a reedy man with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, looked up from a ledger, his eyes squinting. “Adams. Right on time, as always.”
“Never late when money’s involved, Isaac,” Adams drawled, taking a seat opposite the lawyer’s desk without being offered. He leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. “So, what’s the word on the Red River land acquisition? Are those stubborn farmers finally seeing reason?”
Benson cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Most of them are, Mr. Adams. Your last offer, while...firm, seems to have convinced them of the futility of holding out. Tarrango and Cavasos are proving a touch more difficult.”
Adams scoffed. “Difficult? Or greedy? Tell them I’m prepared to offer them nothing, Isaac. Nothing at all. They can squat on their parched dirt until the dust chokes them, or they can take my final, generous offer. This land will be mine, one way or another. Their choice.” His voice was low, but carried an edge of cold steel that made Benson shiver despite the warm afternoon. The lawyer knew Adams wasn’t bluffing. When Lawrence Adams wanted something, he took it. And Adams wanted land, lots of it, stretching across Uvalde County – land that would make him richer, more influential, and, in his mind, undeniably qualified for higher office.
The conversation shifted to bank loans, cattle deals, and overdue debts. Adams listened, his mind already three steps ahead, calculating profits, envisioning future holdings. He saw the map of Uvalde County in his head, a canvas on which he would paint his destiny. The land, the influence, the power – it was all interconnected. And at the heart of it, he still saw Lucia, a beautiful, exotic jewel to adorn his eventual reign. He pictured her in a grand house, perhaps even the governor’s mansion, by his side. The thought brought a self-satisfied smirk to his lips.
Meanwhile, just a few streets away, the sun beat down on the dusty main road, reflecting off Lucia’s worn wagon. She hummed a low, lilting tune as she arranged her wares: dried herbs, small bags of cornmeal, woven baskets, and brightly colored shawls. Her hands, nimble and strong, moved with a practiced grace. Lila and Sara were still chatting animatedly, admiring a particularly vibrant red shawl. Brent was carefully examining a small, carved wooden horse he’d found among the various treasures in her wagon, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“How much for this, Lucia?” Lila asked, holding up a cluster of dried sage.
“Two bits. Good for clearin’ the air, and for flavor in your beans.” Lucia’s voice was soft, with a gentle lilt that hinted at her mixed heritage. She smiled, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. She felt a lightness around these folks, a simple comfort that Adams’s menacing presence had curdled earlier.
“It’s beautiful, Lucia,” Sara commented on the shawl. “Your hands work wonders.”
“Not my hands,” Lucia responded. “The wife of one of our vaqueros is the one whose hands work wonders.”
Lucia glanced down the street toward where Adams had gone, a flicker of unease crossing her face as she thought of how he stared at her. He was a powerful man, and his power often left a trail of broken lives in its wake. He was doing his best to force her own family off of land that a member of the Tarrango family had worked for more than two centuries. The thought of his ‘sponsorship’ made her stomach churn.
Brent, finally satisfied with his inspection of the wooden horse, looked up at Lucia. “My pa says you make the best corn tortillas in the Nueces Valley, Miss Lucia.”
Lucia’s smile softened further. “Does he now? Well, tell your pa he’s welcome to some anytime.” A warmth spread through her at the mention of MacLean. He was not like Adams, quiet, respectful, his gaze steady and dangerous, but not predatory. There was a quiet strength about him, a sense of justice that felt like a bulwark against the rough tide of men like Adams, but what could one man do?
Further down the street, in the sheriff’s modest office, Monty leaned back in his creaking chair, his boots propped on his desk. Ranger Daniel MacLean, stoic as ever, stood by the window, his gaze scanning the sun-baked street. The rhythmic squeak of the windmill outside was the only sound breaking the silence.
