Free The Valiant Women by Jeanne Williams

making simple things complicated! But he had to admit that complicating unsalted jerky and meal cakes into a tasty stew was a talent he appreciated.
    â€œNever ate anything so good in my whole life,” he said after a few very busy and absorbed moments.
    Socorro glowed. Her manners were daintier than his but she did away with two bowls before Santiago began to stir. She thinned down some stew and went over to feed him while Shea polished off a fourth helping and eight of the somewhat lumpy tortillas.
    Sluggishly replete, worn out by the day, he was close to dozing while he sat there. With great effort he hauled himself to his knees, washed out the kettle and turned it upside down on the griddle to dry. Fetching wood for morning from the pile at the door, he put in a large chunk to hold the coals, fixed the rawhide bed for Socorro and made his pallet just outside her door.
    After helping Santiago outside for the necessities of nature, Shea barred both doors, thinking that if the rancho’s defenders had had time to fort up and had decent weapons, they should have been able to stand off a small army.
    â€œWe had an old flintlock,” Santiago said, as if reading Shea’s mind. “But I don’t think Don Antonio had even time to load it.”
    Shea wished mightily for one of the percussion rifles, or failing that dream, any kind of firearm. All they had was a knife and the buck’s horn. Some kind of distance weapon … He turned abruptly.
    â€œSantiago! Can you make a bow and arrows?”
    The vaquero’s mouth twisted in a faint, mocking grin. “You believe I inherit such knowledge through my Apache blood?”
    â€œI wish to hell you had!”
    The young man gave the slightest hitch of one shoulder. “I’ve never held a bow, much less made one. But I think I can.”
    â€œGood!”
    Socorro put a gourd of water near Santiago and told him to call her if he needed her during the night. Shea waited till she had prayed by the shrine and gone into the bedroom. Then he spoke under his breath.
    â€œYou need anyone, my lad, you just call me!”
    The whelp damn near chuckled, cocking an amused eyebrow. “Your hands are not so gentle as the lady’s. Nevertheless, I won’t disturb her sleep. Nor yours either, I hope. Good night, señor .”
    But for all the boy’s brave front, Shea’s sleep was disturbed. He woke slowly to an unfamiliar sound, stiffened in the darkness, missing the stars, wondering for a few seconds where he was. The sound that must have waked him came again, a muffled, breath-held kind of noise.
    Santiago was weeping.
    He had the right.
    Compassion flooded Shea. Should he say something, try to comfort the boy? No. That wild young pride would resent it. Better let him have the relief and think no one had heard.
    After a time the stifled sobbing ended but it took Shea a long while to get back to sleep. He thought of Socorro in the next room, seeming so far away after the way they’d slept almost touching these past weeks. Grown right into him, she had, like part of his body, part of his soul.
    She hadn’t carried on today, or shirked what had to be done. But had it revived the terrors of her own disaster? How long would he have to wait before he could even kiss her, hold her in his arms?
    Aching, Shea stared at the dim light of the windows. An even more unwelcome fear intruded.
    Santiago was a kid, but hell, he was really no younger than Socorro and he was devilish handsome. She was sorry for him, too. What if—
    Oh, go to sleep, you damned fool! Shea told himself. But it was what seemed hours before he did.

V
    Next day Shea heaped more rocks on the mass grave and set up a cross. He added a small one. For that baby. And he prayed again for his brother Michael, Socorro’s father, and all those who lay in lonely graves, though he reckoned when you got right down to it, any grave was lonely.
    He found a razor and a bit of