Lone Star Bride

With a slight nod to the men across the water hole, he moved his horse back. She did the same.

The three painted horses stepped to the water and started drinking. With Jackson by her side, she breathed a little easier. A quick glance, and she saw his jaw flex. Other than that small tick, his posture was relaxed.

“We are going to turn to the direction of the wagon, nice and easy. I need to tell the boys to keep an eye out. They might grab a steer or two.”

“What do we do to stop them?”

“Nothing. Consider it cost of business. The one thing we don’t want is a full-on attack. They take a couple of cows to their people, and we move on to the border.”

“So we’re just going to let them steal our cattle?”

He sighed. “Yes. You need to keep the mules in their harness tonight. They are more valuable than anything else we have here.”

She looked over her shoulder. The warriors were gone. “Where did they go?” Chills ran down her spine as she scanned the hills. “Are they watching us?”

“Probably.” He slid his rifle back into its leather scabbard.

“What do we do?” Forcing herself to look straight ahead was hard to do when her skin felt tight from the unseen men studying her movements.

“Nothing. Three don’t travel far on their own. Stay close to the wagon and make it hard for them to get to the mules. Once we join Cook, I’ll go warn the others. Stay vigilant.”

With a nod, she looked over her shoulder again. “How long will they follow us?”

“A day or two. We don’t want to make it easy for them to get into the camp.” He looked over his shoulder. “If we allow them to take a couple of the steers, and make sure we have the wagon and horses covered, they should move on.”

Nodding toward her rifle, his eyes narrowed. “You know how to use that? Ever shot a living thing?”

“Yes. My father taught me to shoot what I was aiming for. I never missed my target. Even the moving ones.”

He chuckled and looked at her. She couldn’t tell if the spark in his eyes was amusement or admiration.

“Good. I tell you what—you are one strange woman, and for once I’m very happy about that. Tie your horse to the wagon and sit with Cook. You can ride shotgun.”

The pounding of her heart seemed to have changed directions. Instead of fear, something else jolted it.

A different kind of anxiety. Jackson trusted her to protect the wagon. She sat straighter. “I can do that. Thank you for trusting me.”

“What’s your real name?” A grim line replaced any smile he might have had.

“I thought we agreed I would be Tiago so there was no confusion.” Was he going to get all manly and protective on her? Riding with Cook might not be about her protecting the wagon, but keeping her locked away.

She glared at him, trying to figure out his motive.

“You know I can help. You don’t have to keep me in a safe place.” She didn’t want to admit that her heart had soared with relief when he had joined her.

“When I saw you across from the warriors, I wanted your real name. What if something does happen? My first thought was...if I have to bury her, I won’t know the name to carve into the marker.” There was an angry clip to the edge of his voice. “I want to know the real you. Not the fake name.”

“I am Santiago. If I die on the trail, that is who you will bury.” Pushing her hat lower, her hands trembled.

He reached across his horse. Under his large hand, hers disappeared. “I will not be burying you on this trail.”

Chapter Eight (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Sofia wrapped the colorful blanket tighter. Weak and tired, her body still refused to go to sleep. There were saddle sores on top of saddle sores.

Images of Rosita in the kitchen making tortillas appeared like a fantasy, a dream from a fairy tale that didn’t really happen.

Now she ate more dust than chow. Unable to sleep, she studied the colors in the woven patterns.

It would be easier to think about the parts of her body that didn’t hurt, maybe her head. That was it. Everything below her jaw ached. She thought she had worked hard before, but she had been a sheltered baby.

The woman who returned to her father would be different from the woman she was before she left.

A quick glace to the loaded rifle laying within reach was evidence of the change. She glanced at the mules, making sure they were still safe.

Still in the harness, they lay on the ground a few yards away from her. She scanned the edge of darkness for any threats.

Today, she had faced the possibility of her own death. She had survived without much of an incident other than going numb with fear.

She hated that she hadn’t known what to do. That Jackson had come to her rescue. Would she have made it back to the wagon if he hadn’t shown up?

Sometime during the week, she started waking up looking forward to seeing him. The chores were done in fast order, and she got the wagon moving quickly so she could ride out and find him.

He sat a horse better than any man she had ever seen, but it was more than that. He was more than a good-looking man that knew how to ride well. At his core, deep in his eyes, he not only understood her, but he needed someone to understand him.

Not that it was where her mind should go. Rubbing her face, she hoped to scrub the thoughts of the quiet talking Kentucky man from her brain.

The sounds of campfire companionship drifted over the night. The men still sat around the low fire, laughing and playing music. The songs were all foreign, not the kind she was used to.

Jackson warned her to keep as much distance as possible from the cowboys. She never felt so alone around other people.

She licked her lips. That was a mistake. So, she hurt above her jaw, too. They had never been so dry and cracked before. The taste of dirt and dust came with every painful breath she took.

She dreamed of riding alongside the longhorns, but instead most of her days were spent sitting next to Cook or going into the wagon and doing prep work for him. The one time she rode off, she got in trouble.

She coughed again. All the dust was never going to clear her lungs.

“Here, drink this.” Jackson stood above her and handed her a metal cup. He tossed something on the ground behind her, but she was more intrigued with the content of his gift. It looked like tea. It smelled like tea.

A small sip confirmed her guess. She sighed as the warm liquid slid down her sore throat.

She moaned. Tea. “Where did you get this? I would trade my kingdom for another cup.”

He just smiled at her, then stared off into the velvet night sky.

“It’s pure bliss.” She closed her eyes and groaned again as she took a slow sip. It was bad manners, but she didn’t care.

Digging in his vest pocket, he pulled out a small tin before lowering his long body on the ground next to her. He draped one arm over his knee and with the other offered the small box. “Here, coat your lips with this. It tastes bitter, but it’ll soothe the skin.”