The Texians 2 Page 13

  The cottony sleep haze lifted just enough for him to recognize the face in the mirror hanging on the wall above the basin. Below two grimly bloodshot eyes, the result of too many victory toasts upon the company’s arrival in Velasco last night, sprouted a rough, week’s growth of beard.

  “Think it’s time to reacquaint my face with the feel of a razor.” Sands glanced at Jess. “There’s a shaving mug and a razor in my sleeping roll. Hand them to me, would you?”

  Jess pushed from the chair and tossed his friend his buckskin shirt instead. “No time to shave. Captain Ike wants to see you—now!”

  Sands merely grunted as he stuck his arms into the sleeves, then pulled the shirt over his head. “I’ve got time to grab a cup of coffee, don’t I?”

  “Nope. When the captain says now, he means now.” Jess opened the door and motioned Sands outside.

  Sands moved through the narrow hotel corridor, down the stairs, and across the small lobby, doing his best to ignore the aroma of coffee, bacon, and fresh-baked biscuits that came from the tiny café off the left side of the lobby. He squinted and grunted again when he stepped in the street outside. The daylight stabbed at his eyeballs and set his head to throbbing. The sun had no right to be this bright after a night like the one he had just spent.

  “Where’s Burton?” he managed to mumble as he blinked, accustoming his eyes to the harshness of the sun.

  Jess pointed to the north end of Velasco’s main street and the army tents pitched there. “He’s been with General Huston all night.”

  “General Huston? Oh, right!” Sands vaguely remembered seeing the man yesterday evening when Burton’s company had landed their three captured Mexican vessels at Velasco’s docks. Brigadier General Felix Huston was regular Texas army. Sands had briefly served under the man at the Battle of Plum Creek, where a hastily gathered Texian force had defeated the war chief Buffalo Hump and his army of Comanches.

  Sands, the stabbing pain of his eyes and the throb of his temples receding, looked about the street. Velasco was smaller than he remembered from last night when several hearty shots of bourbon had embellished his vision. The town was no more than a single street ending with the docks at one end and the army’s tents at the other. Near its shops and stores were a scattering of houses and small farms.

  The town had one claim to fame in the young Republic of Texas: it had served as Texas’s capital briefly after the War of Independence. Other than that, Sands could find little to recommend it as a place to take up permanent residence.

  “General Huston’s headquarters is there to the right.” Jess pointed toward a large rectangular tent pitched beside a flagpole flying the Lone Star.

  “Virgil, come see!” a soldier called as the two rangers walked down a line of tents toward the general’s headquarters. “Here’s a couple of them horse marines that brought the ships in last night!”

  A tow-haired soldier poked his head between the flaps of a tent, grinned broadly at Sands and Jess, then saluted.

  “Horse marines!” Jess snorted, his grin twisting into a scowl. “That’s the hundredth time I’ve heard that this morning. Think I’ll punch the nose of the next man who calls me that! What in hell do they mean by it anyway?”

  “They’re paying you a compliment, Jess,” Sands explained with a smile. “These men know what Burton—and his men—did was nigh on impossible. Three Mexican ships taken without a shot fired—I still have trouble believing it!”

  “A compliment?” Jess eyed his friend suspiciously. His chest expanded proudly when Sands nodded his assurance that he wasn’t pulling the ranger’s leg. “The horse marines—kinda got a nice ring to it.”

  “That it does,” Sands admitted as he lifted the flap to General Huston’s tent and Jess ducked in before him.

  The general and Captain Burton sat at a small table within. Neither rose, but motioned the two rangers to two vacant chairs at one side of the tent.

  “Son, I understand you did a bit of over celebrating last night.” Burton sternly eyed Sands as he took his seat.

  “Hold on, Ike,” General Huston cut in before the ranger captain could continue. “There’s no need to reprimand the man for a little serious drinking. All your horse marines deserved a celebration. In fact I was thinking you and I would do the same as soon as we’re through here. One hell of a job you and your men did, Ike. One hell of a job!”

  “But this man challenged one of your lieutenants to a fornication contest; the first man to bed every woman in town was to be the winner!” Burton protested.

  Fornication contest? Sands blinked and sat upright in his chair. He had absolutely no recollection of any such challenge—or lieutenant!

  “Damned lucky they both passed out after servicing the three soiled doves at the hotel.” Burton grunted and shook his head. “If they hadn’t, the virtue of every lady in Velasco would have been in danger.”

  Three women? Sands’ eyes widened. Three women in one night? His mind raced head-on to one blank wall after another. He had shared the pleasures of three women in one night and couldn’t remember a thing about any of them.

  “But they did pass out, and no harm was done.” Huston chuckled and waved away further comment from Burton. “Besides we’ve got a job for these young men right now.”

  Burton grunted again, then lifted two courier pouches from the table and tossed them to Sands and Jess. “Boys, these are reports of everything that’s happened since we sighted the Vigilante in Copano Bay. Jess, you’re to ride to Austin with yours and stay there to answer any questions the Congress might have. Sands, you’re to ride back to Corpus Christi with yours and deliver it to the city’s mayor. People have been sitting on needles at home ever since the rumors of an invasion fleet started.”

  “This might let them rest a bit easier,” Huston added. He then explained that the cargo aboard all three ships had been removed and stored in Velasco, warehouses. “I estimated it’s worth at about twenty-five thousand dollars. The Texas army appreciates Santa Anna’s generosity. We’ll put the supplies to good use.”

  “What about the ships?” Sands asked. “And their crews?”

  “We’re setting them loose,” Huston said. “I can’t think of better messengers to send back to the generalissimo. I can almost see his face and neck turning a livid scarlet when he learns that a mere sixteen men captured three of his ships. Even more importantly, he’ll know that we’re aware of his coastal invasion plans and ready for him. Santa Anna’s not a stupid man. I’ve no doubt with the element of surprise gone, he’ll abandon the idea of invading by sea.”

  “That’s about it, boys,” Burton said. “Your horses are waiting for you outside. Your canteens have been filled and a fresh ration of jerky has been placed in your saddlebags.”

  Wistfully Sands remembered as he rose and walked from the tent the tantalizing breakfast aromas that had flirted with his nostrils back at the hotel. His mouth puckered at the thought of having to satisfy himself with yet another meal of jerky and water.

  “Austin!” Jess grinned as he walked toward the two soldiers who held their horses outside the tent. “Never been there. You?”

  “Born in that country,” Sands replied as he took his reins and swung into the saddle. “You’ll enjoy it. Some of the prettiest women in the republic are there.”

  “Sounds like a town just waiting to make my acquaintance!” Jess rose to his saddle and winked at Sands. “I’ll give you a full account when I get back with the company.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Sands answered.

  “Sands!” Burton called from behind the ranger just as Jess reined his mount toward the west and galloped away.

  Turning, Sands faced the approaching ranger captain. “Yes, sir?”

  “One last thing I think you’ll be glad to hear. General Huston is going to assign a platoon of his men to help patrol the coast,” Burton said. “Which means as soon as you deliver that pouch, you’re free to ride back to San Antonio.”

  “Yes, sir!"
Sands beamed.

  “And, Sands, thank you. Your help was appreciated.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sands answered, then reined his buckskin gelding southward, spurring the horse toward Corpus Christi and a lovely, young, blond swamp angel who waited for him there.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Smelling of soap and hair tonic, Sands stepped from the barber shop and untied his buckskin from the hitching rail. Slipping the reins over the horse’s head, he stepped in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. With a slight tug on the reins, he headed his mount southward through Corpus Christi.

  A pleased smile road at the corners of his mouth. It was surprising how good a man could feel after a tub of hot water, a few steaming towels, some soap—a lot of soap, he admitted—a razor, a pair of scissors, and a fresh change of clothing. While he didn’t feel like a totally new man, to anyone who had seen him ride into town a few hours ago, he certainly appeared to be a new man now with hair neatly trimmed above the ears and his face cleanly shaven and cheeks still stinging with astringent.

  Might not have on my Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes, but they’re the only thing missing! He imagined Ann Sharp’s surprise, then beaming smile when she greeted him at the door to Reverend Davis’s home. He could already feel the hug of her arms about his neck and taste of her lips on his.

  By the time he reached the Davis home, he practically jumped from the buckskin and ran to the door. The Reverend Anse Davis himself, not Ann, answered his knock.

  “Sorry, Mr. Sands, but Ann hasn’t been here for the past three days.” The preacher shook his head. “Quite an enterprising young woman that Ann. Got herself a job as a seamstress at Mrs. Albach’s dress shop. Ann’s renting a room above the shop from her employer.”

  After getting directions to the store and thanking the reverend, Sands remounted the buckskin to head back the way he had just come. Night veiled the city before he located a small, swinging shingle sign that read DRESSES – MARTHA ALBACH PROPRIETRESS.

  No hint of light came from the tiny shop located on the corner of Port Avenue and Agnes Street. But the warm, yellow glow of candles illuminated the three curtained windows above the dress shop. Tying his mount to a hitching post in front of the store, Sands walked around the building and climbed a flight of wooden stairs that led to a single door on the second floor. He reached out and knocked.

  From within came the soft fall of footsteps, the throwing of the door’s latch, and the creak of hinges in need of oil. Then Ann was there, dressed in a high-collared yellow dress that Sands assumed had come from the shop below.

  “If anything, my angel is more beautiful than when I last saw her.” He opened his arms to her.

  She stared up at him in disbelief for a heartbeat before she threw her arms around his neck and rose on tiptoes to cover his mouth with hers.

  With his swamp angel so delightfully clinging to him, Sands reached down and scooped her into his own arms. Forcing himself to forget the fully engrossing tongue that swept within his mouth, he opened one eye to hastily size up Ann’s apartment, which consisted of two rooms, a small parlor, and a bedroom. The latter was his destination.

  Stepping over the threshold, Sands edged the door closed behind him. Seconds later Ann and he were busily removing each other’s clothing between a flurry of kisses, hugs, and caresses.

  In spite of having exchanged her homespun dress for finery from Martha Albach’s shop, Ann had not acquired the feminine habit of cloaking her body with layer upon layer of underclothing. Beneath the dress she wore but one petticoat, which she wiggled from with ease to stand before him proudly, unashamed of her nakedness.

  Sands’ fingers awkwardly fumbled with the fly of his breeches as his gaze devoured the supple beauty of her body. “Damned pants! Buttons were never meant for a time like this!”

  Ann laughed lightly at his struggle with the stubborn buttons, then trotted across the room, her uptilted breasts' bobbing provocatively with each step. “Here let me help.”

  She grasped his shoulders and turned him about before her hands went to work on the buttons, freeing them effortlessly. Those long, cool fingers parted his breeches and began to caress. “There! All you needed was a woman’s touch!”

  Her aquamarine eyes gleamed with impish delight at what her touch brought to life. But before Sands’ arms could encircle his tantalizing swamp angel, her fingers abandoned their taunting and her hands rose to his chest, palms pressed flat against his flesh. And she shoved!

  “What the ...” Balance lost, Sands tumbled, falling down onto the thick feather bed.

  In the next instant, Ann bent low, grasped his ankles, and hefted them high. Then she was pulling at the cuffs of his pants, tugging his breeches down his waist and off his legs.

  “That’s better!” She laughed as her gaze roved over his naked body, unashamed of the pleasure now afire in her eyes.

  Sands spoke with his arms rather than voice, opening them to her. She came to him.

  The opening and closing of the door brought Sands wide-awake. As he bolted upright, his arm went out to wake Ann. She wasn’t there; her place beside him in the bed was cold. His eyes darted about the small bedroom, locating his holster and pistol on a chair near the window where he had hung them last night.

  “Josh, you awake?”

  The tension eased from his muscles and drew a deep steadying breath. It was only Ann. “Just woke up.”

  She stepped through the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a new calico dress and a wide smile. In her hands was a tray covered with a white napkin. “I woke about an hour ago and decided to surprise you.”

  Walking beside the bed, she carefully balanced the tray on his lap and removed the napkin to reveal a plate containing four fried eggs, three buttered biscuits with dewberry jam dripping from them, and two generous slices of ham. A cup of steaming coffee was beside the plate. “I have no way to cook here. Have to get my meals from a restaurant down the street. Hope you’re hungry.”

  “Could eat a longhorn on the hoof,” Sands said with a wide grin. Lifting knife and fork from the tray, he began to attack the breakfast while Ann settled herself at the foot of the bed. “Hmmm, this is a feast!”

  “It’s only eggs and ham.” She laughed softly, obviously delighted by the enthusiasm he displayed.

  “You haven’t lived off venison jerky and water for what seems like a lifetime.” He gobbled up half a biscuit and washed it down with a gulp of the coffee. “What time is it?”

  “Noon.” Taking the napkin from the bed, she used a corner to wipe a smear of egg yolk from the corner of his mouth.

  “What? Shouldn’t you be downstairs in the dress shop?” he asked around a mouthful of ham.

  “It’s Sunday, Josh.”

  “Sunday?” Sands shook his head. He had completely lost track of the days while with Burton’s ranging company. He looked up at Ann and winked. “That means we have all day together.”

  Ann’s smile faded and she glanced away.

  Sands studied her abrupt transformation. Was that concern he saw in her expression? “Is there something wrong, Ann? Do you have other plans for today?”

  “I have to meet someone this evening, Josh.” Her voice was a cautious whisper.

  Sands’ mouth and throat went dry; his stomach lurched, then sank. He should have been prepared for this. After all, Ann was a beautiful woman, and there had been no promises between them. “Another man?”

  “Josh, I wanted to tell you last night. I tried ... but I couldn’t.” Her head slowly turned to him. Seeing his expression, her brow knitted. “No, Josh, it’s not what you think. It’s ... it’s ...” She paused; her chest heaving heavily as he drew in a deep breath. “Josh, it’s Cotton Blue. He’s here in Corpus Christi.”

  “Cotton ... here!” Sands scooted the tray and the half-eaten meal to the other side of the bed. “And you’re going to meet him? Where?”

  Ann stared at him, her mouth drawn in a taut, thin line. “Dammit!” Sands’ arm snaked out, h
and clamping about her wrist. “Where is he, Ann?”

  “Josh, he’s my brother! I can’t let you kill him!” Despair tautened her face, but he couldn’t let his feeling for her, the tortured agony he knew she was going through, stand in the way.

  “Ann, Cotton Blue killed a friend of mine. And in all likelihood he killed a whole family in Louisiana—left another man to take blame and face the hangman’s noose. Dammit, Cotton and two friends of his were helping the Mexicans prepare to invade Texas!”

  “What?” Ann’s eyes widened with horror.

  Sands quickly told her of Beau Dupree and the murder of the Vardeman family, then recounted the story of Professor Jonathan Peoples and his Mexican rifles.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks by the time he had finished, but still her head moved slowly from side to side. “I don’t care what he’s done. Cotton Blue is still my brother, my blood. I can’t let you kill him, Josh. I can’t.”

  “I don’t want to kill him,” he said, and realized that as much as Cotton Sharp deserved to be shot on sight, as much as he, Josh Sands, desired to do just that, he couldn’t—not while Beau Dupree still lived and he could save the innocent man. “I want to take him alive, Ann. I want to return him to Louisiana to stand trial.”

  There would be hell to pay if he did return Cotton Blue to Colonel Martin rather than turn him over to Texian authorities, who wanted him for more than murder. But he was willing to face the reprimands.

  “He’ll get a fair trial?” Ann wiped at her eyes and stared at Sands.

  “I promise you that,” he replied.

  Suddenly, she pushed across the bed and threw herself into his arms. The tears came in a flood once more, and he held her tightly until the last shuddering sob passed.

  “He’s in a cabin on the north edge of town,” she finally said. “He’s been hiding there about a week. I’m supposed to meet him at six with as much money as I can raise. He’s planning to ride to Mexico.”

  Sands gently eased her back, rose from the bed, and gathered his clothes from the floor. “I think it’s best if we went and visited him right now.”