She was so busy watching them that she hardly noticed when a man sat next to her. Then she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, and became instantly aware. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.
There was no mistaking Logan Raintree. The best of many cultures had mixed in his face, a face as cleanly sculpted as a marble bust, with high broad cheekbones and a determined chin. He wasn’t beautiful, but he was one of the most imposing men she’d ever met. The ever-simmering energy within him added a vitality and heat that made him even more intriguing, more attractive.
Seductive. She immediately tried to wipe that thought from her mind.
She didn’t speak but gazed at him solemnly. He’d known she was there. He hadn’t walked away when he saw her. Quite the opposite—he’d joined her.
She was almost shocked when he smiled at her. “I’d like to apologize, Marshal O’Brien. I’ve been an ass.”
She smiled in response. “Um, apology accepted. Except…you weren’t that bad,” she said with a laugh.
“What made you come here?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “It’s not that far from the Longhorn, where I’m staying. I wasn’t ready to go back and answer a bunch of questions about the meeting. I needed time.”
He nodded, looking toward the chapel. “I wondered if you’d come here because this is where Chelsea Martin was last seen.”
“It might’ve had something to do with that.”
“You going to accept Jackson Crow’s offer?” he asked her.
“I…don’t know. Maybe. You?”
“This morning, I would’ve given him a definite no. Now…I’m not sure. Either way, I want to find out what there is to see at the morgue tomorrow.”
She felt a tightening inside. Yes. The morgue.
They were both silent for a minute. Then he began to speak, his tone relaxed.
“The Alamo’s a shrine,” he said softly. “Of course, it’s different than it was at the time of the battle. The chapel and this area—including the long barracks—was just a small part of the original Alamo,” Logan explained. “The walls extended for a quarter of a mile. In fact, that was one of the problems for the defenders once Santa Anna’s men breeched the walls—the place was too big to protect easily. The men who fought here fought hard, and they fought knowing they were likely to die.” He glanced at her. “Courage is being afraid—and going ahead, anyway.”
Kelsey nodded in agreement.
“Santa Anna had his men raise a red flag in a nearby church tower, and that bloodred flag indicated there’d be no quarter given. But, of course, the Alamo was part of a bigger story, and like most history, it depends on who is doing the telling. The Spanish had been in control. They’d signed a treaty ceding Florida to the U.S. and creating a boundary between the United States and Spanish America. But before that, men called impresarios, Stephen Austin among them, had been luring Americans into Texas with land grants that required no down payment. Then the Mexicans fought the Spanish for independence and won. Santa Anna become president, or more accurately, dictator. Texians or Anglo-Americans, and Tejanos, Mexican-Texans, had been living under the Constitution of 1824 until Santa Anna rescinded it and pretty much pissed them all off.”
“Which led to what happened here,” she said, absorbed in what he was telling her.
“Right. But a lot of movies about the Alamo forgot to depict the Tejanos who were part of the effort—and part of the effort to create an independent Texas. Some of the early books and movies about the Alamo were downright racist. The good old Anglo-Americans were the heroes, while the Tejanos who fought just as hard were ignored. I’m glad to say we’re moving past that.” He smiled slightly. “But it’s also true that regardless of background, these men weren’t on some idealistic mission for freedom and honor. They were like most of us—looking for a way to make a better life for themselves.”
“And there would’ve been no Texas without both groups,” Kelsey remarked.
His smile deepened. “Santa Anna miscalculated. He thought that his ‘no quarter given’ policy would scare off the revolutionaries. Instead, ‘Remember the Alamo!’ became a battle cry. Soon after, the massacre at Goliad occurred. Santa Anna had everyone there executed, and the war became one of revenge as well as Texan independence. Of course, if they’d lost, the whole thing would’ve been described as the Mexicans putting down an uprising by a group of rebels.”
“But Texas did gain its independence and then became part of the United States,” Kelsey said. “I appreciate what you’ve told me. I’m really interested in history.”
“Me, too. I just want it to be history and not fiction.”
“You’re a Ranger and obviously Native American,” she said. “What’s your history?”
“Very typical of Texas—a real mix. My father’s a quarter Apache and three-fourths Anglo. My mother’s half Norwegian and half Comanche. They’re both all-Texan. And all-American. And they’re alive and well and living happily in Montana now.”
“Didn’t the Texas Rangers spend a lot of years battling the Comanches?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But they also learned from them.” He eased back a little as he spoke, leaning against the bench as he watched the young people around him seek to learn about the past. “A Comanche warrior could ride at breakneck speed—while clinging to the side of his horse with his shield, bow and quiver. He could fire off twelve arrows while a Ranger was trying to reload his rifle. To fight the Comanche, the Rangers had to learn how to do the same—or something equivalent and their fights led to some real renovations in weapons.” He turned to face her. “I like to think I’ve learned from all my ancestors, including the Vikings,” he added with a grin.
“Why not?” she said, shrugging comically.
“O’Brien. Are you Irish?” he asked.
“Like you, I’m mostly all-American mutt, but yes, my dad’s family immigrated from Ireland.”
“And you come from the Sunshine State. Do you miss it?”
“No,” she said. “Okay, a little. But I’m at the Longhorn, as you know, and Sandy’s an old friend. I have a cousin here, too. Sean Cameron. But he’s—”
He straightened. “Sean Cameron is your cousin?” he asked.
“Well, a Sean Cameron is my cousin.”
“He works for a company called Magic on Demand?”
“Yes. You know him?”
He nodded, staring at her.
“How?”
“He’s been a consultant for us a few times. I haven’t seen him in quite a while, but one Halloween we had a murder in a haunted house, and he was brought in. He helped the crime-scene people dig through the fake gore and get down to the real evidence.” Logan was quiet for a minute.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Did you always want to be a Texas Ranger?” she asked, changing the subject.
He nodded. “My dad was a Ranger,” he said. “What about you?”
“I always wanted to be a Marshal,” she told him. “I knew it from when I was in high school.”
He slouched down on the bench, thoughtful as he studied the tourists coming and going. “Most people would say you don’t look the part,” he said.
“What am I supposed to look like?”
“John Wayne, maybe.”