Mexican Fire by Martha Hix

there. Even if that weren’t so, he’d be suspicious, would wonder why I’ve now seen fit to entertain him.”
    â€œKnowing Antonio as I do, I believe he’d be nothing but honored. It’s hurt him, being shunned by so many families. He did, you know, lead a good-faith and valiant attack on Texas.” Reece paused. “Mexico is one country, and as long as the factions are divided from within, there’ll never be peace. Antonio wants peace for Mexico.”
    She shortened the space between herself and the Santanista pig, pointing a finger at his smug face. “If he appears on my doorstep, you’ll not receive one measly cuartilla from me. Not one!” She gritted her teeth. “Do you understand?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” he replied solemnly and took her hand. “I understand every word you say.”
    Again Reece had capitulated much too easily, even though her demands had been met. The sooner she rid herself of his influence, the better. Her heart pounded. How easy would it be, retreating? While Reece Montgomery may have been easy with his principles, Alejandra felt certain he wouldn’t be quite as easy to get rid of.

Chapter Five
    Even before the widow Sierra’s carriage pulled away from Casa Montgomery, Reece poured himself a stiff brandy. Trouble beset him. When Alejandra had mentioned François of Joinville, he knew she’d seen the prince leaving here. He wasn’t unduly worried over the French connection, though. Fronting his house was a public road; everyone traveled it. He could explain away the “coincidence.” No, his problem wasn’t his ally, the Orleanian prince.
    Trouble had black hair, hazel eyes, and was all Mexicana.
    Alejandra’s words of outrage against her late husband’s commander had been powerful and convincing. Almost. For a while there, Reece had wondered if he was wrong in thinking the vainglorious Antonio López de Santa Anna sent her. But Alejandra, naive little spy, had incriminated herself.
    She was a liar.
    He knew it, there was no getting around it, and it didn’t have one thing to do with a broken harness trace. At least once in the past six weeks she had spoken with Antonio. From the narthex of San Fernando Church, Reece had seen her conversing with the man she professed to shun.
    He knew he had to be careful—damn careful!—as he snared ex-General Santa Anna in his own trap. Reece took a sip of his drink. His troubles burned hotter than the liquor as it ate a path to his stomach.
    Alejandra wasn’t the only liar in this tangled intrigue.
    Reece had deceived her about Antonio’s plans. It had to be this way. The cur of Manga de Clavo must be assured of his “trusted” liege man’s loyalty.
    Like a restless cat, Reece paced his house. He tried to make sense of the Alejandra situation. Women of quality didn’t soil their gloves with underhanded politics, and lady spies were women with nothing to lose.
    Why had Alejandra dirtied her hands? From all he had heard about her, she was the personification of caring and gentility. Gossip said she had devoted herself to Campos de Palmas and the people working it. She wasn’t a gadabout, stayed close to her cafetelería. When she did leave the plantation, her circle of friends didn’t include those of the unseemly variety. He had admired these things in Alejandra Sierra.
    But her visit spoke for itself. And then there was that part about spying on Antonio . . . Why would a rich widow, a member of an influential family, embroil herself in a scheme with the likes of that murderer of Texans and Mexicans alike?
    Again Reece considered the things he knew about her. What if she was on the up-and-up? What if she was opposed to the man who likened himself to the Little General?
    If Antonio returned to the presidency, he could make things rough for Alejandra Sierra. Did she realized what she was endangering? Her home, her