Protector Cowboy: Filthy, Dirty,

Small-Town Love (Waylon Family

Ranch) (Waylon Family Ranch (Rugged
Mountain Ink) Book 1) Khloe Summers
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 Protector Cowboy
Rugged Mountain Ink (Waylon Family Ranch)

Khloe Summers

Summer to Winter Publishing

 Copyright © 2022 Summer to Winter Publishing

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 Chapter One
Penelope

I’ve read every romance novel I can get my hands on. The long ones with the angsty, drawn
out love that takes forever and a day to establish. The short ones with an instant attraction that seems
too unreal to be true. And the super toxic stories, where the couple fall for one another despite one
partner’s penchant for murder. They’re all good one way or the other, and I’ve related to them all at
different points in my life. The toxic stories, less. But still, the happily ever after that infuses my
blood with dopamine is enough to get me through the week.
They’re addicting, though. You get a high from the characters love, and when that wears off,
your back like a junky, desperate for more. Wishing, hoping, praying, that one night you’ll be lying in
bed and a six-foot five Prince Charming will break into your house, admit his terrible fondness for
robbery, and you’ll fall in love with his dark brown eyes, massive muscles, and the giant cock that he
can’t even hide through a pair of jeans.
My love story went a little differently. I have the one where the girl misjudged a guy when she
was naïve and doomed herself to a life of regret and disappointment. I say doomed with a sense of
self-loathing, because that’s where I am right now.
Self-loathing, USA. It’s a cute little spot by the river where white and gray ducks chase each other
in a murky green pond. People gather round its edge to contemplate their life choices. I give it… four
out of five stars.
There’s the elderly man who sits slumped over the bench to the right of an oak tree. His frame is
hunched over as he tosses tiny pieces of bread to the shameless ducks to rush out after. I bet he’s lost
someone. I imagine he and his wife came out to this same spot on Sundays. No, they went somewhere
nicer, like the lake. The lake up near Whiskey Falls. He can’t bear the thought of returning, so he sits
here now, reliving their sweet ritual to the hum of strangers' tears.
Poetic.
To my left is a woman. I’d guess she’s in her late forties. Her hair is tied back in a loose bun and
her gaze is set on the mountain range in the distance. She couldn't care less about me, or the ducks, or
the pond, or anything else going on around her. She’s focused on whatever’s in her head. Given
enough time, I could make up a story for her as well, but I see David in the distance, and my stomach
turns.
It’s funny the things you give passes for when you think you’re in love. Robbery doesn’t
count. Look at Aladdin.
David’s faults are much more nefarious.
I was never truly attracted to David, but I thought his sense of humor made up for it. Now,
everything he says is like nails on a chalkboard, and the humor I once thought was hilarious grates on
my every nerve. How could I laugh with him after all the hurt he’s put me through?
I glance back at the pond and stand from the bench, making my way up the gravel ravine toward
my car, parked on the west end of the lot. I should’ve parked closer. The last thing I want is a
confrontation with him. I have what my best friend Cora calls co-dependency. Apparently, that means
I rely on others too much. And David is the one I’ve relied on the most. I’d probably need years of
therapy to debunk all the lifelong trauma that put me in that place, but I don’t have time for that. I need
to be strong right now.
 “You’re running from me again, Pen. We need to talk.”
Talk. I laugh to myself at the concept. I tried ‘talking’ to the man for months and he dismissed
every thought I had with defense and criticism.
I keep walking.
“Seriously?” His voice gets louder, like he’s jogging toward me. “You owe me a few minutes, at
least.”
I have so many things I could say to that, but I’ve read enough about co-dependency to know that
turning around will only make things worse.
I’ll state my case, he’ll state his, and none of it will lead to the happily ever after I need to get
high.
I pull my keys from the pocket of my jacket and press the fob to unlock the door, but his fingers
grip the back of my wrist and pull me back.
“Come on, Pen. Talk to me.”
If he didn’t have a history of violence, I wouldn’t overthink the touch. I’ve grabbed Cora’s arm a
hundred times and pulled her back from lots of things. Another shot of whiskey, a date that didn’t
feel right, a mustard-colored dress that would undoubtedly invite ants.
But when David looks at me, I know this touch is different. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are
narrowed, and the flex of his fingers around my arm tightens.
“You owe this to me, Penelope.”
I know it’s not advantageous for me to laugh, but I can’t help myself. The thought of me ‘owing’
anything to a man that cornered me in a hallway last week to remind me how I ruined his life for the
thousandth time is just funny, I guess.
“I don’t think so.” I chuckle and flinch from his grip, walking the last two feet to my car, but he
grabs me again. This time, harder.
“It’s your fault this shit is happening in the first place. You did this to us.” There’s darkness in his
tone. Malice.
I don’t answer. Answering only gets me in trouble. I’m proud of myself for staying, but he proves
me wrong every time.
Turns out, silence gets me in trouble, too. He backs me up against the car door, his lanky frame
hovering over me as his jaw tightens, and his teeth bare. I read about this in romance novels too, but it
was never like this. Never with hate.
“Give me the keys,” he grunts. “Now!”
“Penelope?” a deep voice interrupts from a distance. I’ve heard the tone before, but I can’t place
the man's face until David steps away and the man comes into frame.
Humiliation washes over me like a red-hot fever. It’s my dad’s best friend, Waylon. If I had to
guess, the man is in his late forties, but he’s ungodly attractive. I say ‘but’ because I’m way too young
to be ogling a man in his forties. Though, this guy is six foot six, covered in tattoos, wears a cowboy
hat, and talks in a baritone that makes my pussy rumble.
“Hey.” I wave toward him as though David wasn’t just hunched over me, threatening to take away
my choice.
“Everything okay here? It looked pretty heated from where I was standing.” Waylon glances
toward David, then back at me, his gaze turned down as though he already knew what was going on.
Of course he does. He’s not stupid. He runs one of the biggest ranches in Rugged Mountain. He
employs nearly half the people in town between the ranch and his rodeo. You don’t get to be that man
without knowing how to read people.
 “I’m fine,” I lie, my hands still shaking. “David was just leaving.”
Waylon looks toward David and his shoulders widen.
“We’ll finish this later, Pen.” David runs off to his truck like a scared little puppy with this
tail between his legs.
We really do live in the animal kingdom, don’t we?
I suck in a deep breath and twist back toward Waylon, my face still burning. “Wow. That was…
embarrassing.”
He shakes his head and steps toward me, his large hand landing on my arm like a giant blanket of
warmth. I try not to find comfort in it, but I do.
“Who’s that guy?”
I sigh and fidget with the hem of my cable-knit sweater. “My very recent ex, who apparently
thinks we have unfinished business.”
“Do you?” Waylon’s gaze is directly on me, like he’s looking for the parts I won’t speak about.
“No,” I laugh, “I don’t. But he won’t take no for an answer. I broke it off last week and he’s been
showing up at my house, at the park, wherever I go. I turn around, and there he is. It’s insane.”
Waylon looks up toward the west end of the lot, where David walked off. His truck is gone. “Tell
me where he lives, and I’ll go teach him a lesson.”
It shouldn’t feel so good to want David to pay for what he’s done to me, but it does. Waylon’s
words fill into the cracks that have split open my heart, and somehow, make me feel important. That
said, I say, “No, thank you. I couldn’t let you do that. Besides, I think he’s harmless enough.”
That’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. Waylon knows it’s a lie. Hell, I think the man throwing bread to the
ducks by the pond, who hasn’t listened to a word of our conversation, knows it’s a lie. Nonetheless, I
stare back at Waylon as though it’s the honest to heaven truth.
He tips his head to the side and stares at me, his hand still on my arm, now moving up and down
comfortingly. “He had you pinned against the car. You looked terrified, Penny. I couldn’t go back to
the ranch, look your dad in the eye, and not do anything about this.”
“Oh, you can’t tell my dad.” My eyes widen, and I flatten my body toward him, my face more
serious than it had been.
“Why?”
Waylon and my father have been best friends for as long as I can remember. My dad is Waylon’s
second in command on the ranch and they run in all the same circles through the rodeo in town. It’s not
going to be easy to ask him to keep this a secret, especially one that involves the safety of his best
friend's daughter.
“First off, there’s nothing to tell,” I lie again. “David is an ass, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides,
you know how my dad is. He’ll go all caveman, wind up hurting David, get himself in trouble, pull
me from my apprenticeship at the tattoo shop, and I’ll be destined to work at the diner or the ranch
like everyone else in town. And no offense… but neither of those are my thing.”
“Why would he make you quit the tattoo shop? David doesn’t work there.”
“No, but I met David there. He seems to think that hanging around people who cover themselves
in ink is asking for a life of a degenerate.”
Waylon looks down at his arms and then toward me. “I’m covered. And I’ve known the man for
eons. He’s never said a thing to me.”
I cock my head to the side.
“What?” he probes.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
 “It’s not nothing. You were going to say something, but you held back.”
I stare at him. “It’s nothing. Just… Dad always said that’s why you… why you’re single.”
He laughs. “Did he? Because of my tattoos? There are plenty of guys in town with tattoos and nice
families. And what’s his excuse?”
I shrug. “Anyway, you can see how irrational the man is. I don’t want to stir things up with him.
I’m begging you. If I thought I couldn’t handle myself, I’d reach out to someone, but I can.”
“And when the asshole comes back later? What then?”
“Then I handle him like I always have, and he leaves.”
Waylon looks toward me with a wary gaze, as though he’s trying to find the balance between
respecting my wishes and safeguarding himself against possible fault. It’s a beautiful gaze, one that
I’d like to paint and hang on my wall as the only man that ever took my wishes into consideration
before acting.
“Fine,” he groans. “I’ll keep your secret,” he hands me his card, “but you check in with me every
day, and you let me install a security system at your cabin.”
I consider his offer. A security system isn’t such a bad idea. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it
sooner. Not only does it keep me safe from the asshole known as David, but it would also be nice to
know when a bear is snooping around out back. I walked straight into one last week just making my
way to the car for work.
“Okay,” I sigh, losing myself in his big, rough palm. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you my
address.”
He nods and opens my car door, helping me inside carefully. My body lights. It shouldn’t be lit. If
anything, this is only proof that I’ve read one too many books.
“Text me when you get home safe. I know a guy that can install the cameras quickly. I’ll have him
stop by tomorrow morning. If I’m not with him, don’t open the door. Do you understand?”
I nod and stare up toward Waylon as though he has all the answers, like he’s Prince Charming, and
I’m the girl whose panties are way too wet for chapter one.
 Chapter Two
Waylon

Fucking hell. I need a goddamn brain rewiring. I wonder if they sell those? If not, I’d bet I have a
million-dollar idea. A pill to erase all the sick and unholy thoughts I’m having about my best friend’s
daughter. A woman that’s clearly twenty years younger than me. A woman that needs my help, not my
dick. A woman that’s nearly the age of my daughter, Kate. I’m pretty sure the two have them have
gotten together a time or two.
I’m fucked. I’m a fucked, fucking man.
I shake my head and run my hand down over my beard, staring up at the dark lit ceiling with an
erection tenting the light sheet I’m covered with.
Maybe there’s a website online I could check.
Is Stopbeingaperv.gov a thing? I feel like it should be.
The worst part is, Penelope’s in trouble. She needs my help and I’m laying here wondering if the
rest of her body is as smooth as her hands. Or if she smells as impossibly good all over as she did in
our brief encounter.
My cock twitches and I contemplate rubbing one out. Maybe it’s all I need to rid the thought from
my body. Then again, it could be a reward for the fantasy and that would create a never-ending cycle
of need. A need that I can never, under any circumstance, satisfy.
I suck in a deep breath and roll to my side, picking up my phone to reread her text. “1473
Blackbird Lane. There’s a red wheelbarrow out front with flowers inside. Thanks again for today. I’m
all locked in for the night.”
I replied back with a simple. Okay. Though, I’m regretting it now. I should’ve asked her a
question and kept the conversation going.
No! Fucking hell.
I scrub my hands over my face. I’m avoiding that. I’m trying not to be the biggest ass of all time.
My brain is thinking this, but my fingers have other plans. They’ve navigated to Facebook. I’m
searching her name.
Right away, a bright faced blonde populates. She’s wearing a pink flowered dress and her hair is
set in long curls that lay on her shoulders. Full breasts fill out her neckline and her hips are thick and
wide. Her smile… incomprehensively bright, like the sun itself.
My free hand strokes my hard cock as I stare at her. Up and down, over and over. I scroll to the
next video of her. She’s saying something about environmental laws and speaking her stance on a mall
that developers are trying to build outside of town. Her lips move softly. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. I pump
my cock harder, watching her soft movements, oblivious to every thought I’d had just a few minutes
ago, until David steps into the frame.
The video is dated a month ago. It looks like they were at the library. The building is a historical
epicenter in town, and I know it quite well. My friend Julie runs the place on the edge of Main Street.
David grips Penelope’s waist and pulls her off screen. He says something low that I can’t hear. Then
she appears again, her face whittled, more tired than it was a second before. She forces a smile and
ends the video.
That fucker. What did he say to her?
I search through her page to see if he’s tagged in anything, but he doesn’t have an account. Hell, I
wouldn’t have an account if it weren’t for the social media team telling me I should keep up with
appearances for the sake of rodeo promotions.
I suck in a deep breath and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling again. This time my cock
isn’t hard and there’s no urge to stroke it. Only the urge to find this asshole and do what I wanted to
from the start—kick his ass.
But that’s not what Penelope wants, and I have to respect that. She’s a smart girl. If I remember
right, one of the smartest. It’s something Troy brags about all the time.
Troy. My best friend. His daughter.
I sit up from the bed and head to the bathroom, splashing water over my face. The coolness offers
a moment of reprieve from the heat in my veins, but it’s not enough to quell the urges still brewing
inside of me.
My cell rings from the bedside table and I jump toward the sound, hoping it’s not her, hoping to
avoid the trouble I know is brewing, but also selfishly wanting to hear her voice again.
Worse over, it’s Troy.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
He sighs. “We all set for that cattle drive tomorrow? We’ve got Austin and Wayne on the team, but
James just called off for tomorrow. Says he’s got an issue with one of his horses.”
“Alright.” I sigh. “Well… call Kate. She wanted to do a run. Now’s as good a time as any.” My
voice breaks when I talk, and the reasons why are endless. Saying my own daughter's name, knowing
what she’d think of me if she knew what I was doing. And Troy, my best friend and Penelope’s father.
God knows he’d fucking hate me.
I google, how not to be a pervert, just in case. A wikiHow page populates that might be helpful,
but it’s too soon to tell.
“Everything else good?” I press.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I haven’t heard from Penelope today, but I suppose she’s a grown
woman these days that doesn’t need to be calling her dad every step of the way.” I can tell he doesn’t
mean what he’s says.
The mere mention of her name has my heart hula-hooping in place. “Does she usually call you
every day?”
“Most days I get a text or something. Today, I haven’t heard a peep. Maybe they’re keeping her
busy at the tattoo shop. Henry and one of the other guys down there have been mentoring her.”
I’m tempted to question him on the disdain for tattoos he’s been hiding, but there are bigger fish in
the pan. So instead, I say nothing at all. I stare blankly ahead, trying not to think of how I was just
stroking my cock as his daughter’s pretty lips moved on that video.
“You alright tonight, boss? You’re acting funny.”
“I’m fine,” I say, like I’m being held at gunpoint. “It’s been a long day. We’ve got the rodeo queen
contest soon and there’s the two cattle drives coming up. Besides that, I’m fucking exhausted. I think I
need another assistant.”
“Penelope!” he says brightly. “She’s been talking like she needs some extra cash while she’s
training at the shop. Plus, it would be a great way to get her to the ranch. You know how long I’ve
been trying to drag her over here?”
My heart stalls in a way it never has before. In fact, it stalls so hard that my next few breaths catch
and back up until I cough.
“What do you think?” he presses. “It would give me a reason to call her tonight and check up on
her.”
 I can’t say no. The man has devoted his life to my ranch, the rodeo, and me. He’s asking for a
personal favor. If only he knew my twisted thoughts, he would feel different.
“Sure.” I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “Let me know what she says.”
“I’ll call her right now and give you a ring back. Thanks, Waylon. I owe you one.”
He disconnects the line before I respond. I didn’t even need another assistant. I only said that
to reprieve myself from the waver in my tone.
I stare back at the screen
Step One: Keep in mind that sexual thoughts are natural and not evil.
Thanks for nothing, wikiHow.
***
The sun is bright the following morning. The kind of bright that stings your eyes as you drive into
it. It’s blinding, even through sunglasses. I pull down the visor and flick on my blinker, turning when I
see the street sign for Blackbird Lane. I haven’t been up this way in years. It’s a little road tucked off
the side of the mountain that doesn’t get much traffic. Mostly cause there’s no reason for anyone to be
up this way—unless you live here.
When I pull up to the cabin, Vick is already working on the install from the outside.
Good girl. She did as I asked. She didn’t let him in.
“Hey, Vick.” I wave toward him as I make my way up to the front steps. “Thanks for coming out
here on such short notice.”
He’s a short man, balding, and a transplant from New York since about three years ago. “No
worries. I know how it is. If it were my daughter, I’d want her safe too.”
There goes that heart stopping thing again. “She’s not my daughter.”
Vick glowers toward me, still twisting the screwdriver up toward the eave as he mounts the
bracket. “Oh, sorry. I just assumed. She your niece or—”
“Nah. Just a friend.” I keep it vague and stare toward him with more disdain than necessary. He
can stop with the questions any second now. “How long to finish the property? We want some in the
trees by the driveway too. I want to be sure she gets alerts if anyone pulls up.”
“I should be done here in a few hours, give or take a few smoke breaks. You might want to check
on your friend, though. She had tears in her eyes when she looked at me through the window earlier.”
I don’t like how he said friend, but I ignore it in favor of knocking on the door. Penelope answers
right away.
“Waylon!” Her face is bright and happy, not a tear in sight, but I see through her performance. “I
didn’t let him in,” she holds up three fingers, “scout’s honor.”
I resist the urge to say good girl and pull her into my arms to hold her until whatever she’s truly
feeling subsides.
“That’s good. He said he’ll be a few hours, so I thought I’d wait with you while he works. I want
to test out the system myself when he’s done. That okay?”
She nods and pours two cups of tea. “I made butter cookies. Do you like them?”
“Who doesn’t like butter cookies?” I lean against the counter as she turns around, bending to pull
a pan from the oven. Her round ass is like a fucking beacon of death, and I can feel the last bit of
sanity leaving my body like the holy ghost.
“That’s good. I made a couple dozen. I don’t have a lot, but I wanted to thank you for offering me
that job. My dad called last night and said you were in desperate need of an assistant, and I have to
say… the timing couldn’t have been better.”
I clear my throat and stuff a cookie in my mouth. “Why’s that?” Crumbs drop everywhere.
 She only looks at me and grins.
“You saw that car I’m driving. It’s so unreliable. It quit outside the tattoo shop yesterday. Henry
was out there for an hour fixing it for me right in the middle of Main Street. Finally, we got it, but…
he has his own family to deal with. I can’t be bothering him for that stuff every day. I need a new car.”
“I thought you wanted to stay away from the ranch?”
She looks toward me, then drops her gaze before looking up again. “It’s not the ranch as much as
it is carving my own path. I don’t have to abandon my work at the tattoo shop to work a side hustle for
you.”
“Well,” I suck in another breath, “the job is only temporary, but it pays well. And there’s an
employee vehicle involved, so… you’re set there.”
Her eyes brighten and she leaps into my arms, wrapping them around my neck tight. Her breasts
press against my chest and the neanderthal inside of me officially grunts.
“You have no idea what this means to me! Dad said nothing about a company car!”
There wasn’t a company car. I just made that up. My full-time assistants are going to be livid. I’m
going to have to raise everyone’s pay ten percent to compensate.
“It’s a newer policy I’m trying.”
Her frame stays pressed against mine a moment longer, the scent of something floral and sweet on
her skin, her breath like the sweet butter cookies she’s been making. “You have no idea how much I
appreciate this. I spent the whole morning crying, thinking I’d messed up my whole life.” She breathes
in deep, her chest rising and falling softly. “Now… maybe I can use some of this money to pay off the
back rent I owe. David drained our accounts before he left. Everything is a mess.”
I hold back from emptying my own bank account into hers.
She reaches for the cup of tea on the counter and hands it toward me before gathering her own. “I
think he knew things were going south, so he withdrew all but $100.” She sighs. “We didn’t have
much anyway, but I couldn’t pay the rent this month.”
The case to nail this guy to a wall grows stronger the more she speaks. “How long were you guys
together?”
“Too long.” She shakes her head. “The weird thing is my dad liked him. From the outside, he
looks like this good boy with his collared shirts and sweaters. That, and he took dad fishing once
every few weeks.” She drags her gaze up and over my ink. “Plus, the no tattoo thing. I hung on as long
as I could.”
She reaches her hand out and lifts my arm in her tiny hand. “You have great ink. Where’d you have
this done?”
“Right here in town. Henry did most of my work, but after he decided to cut back on doing them
himself, I had Gage take over.”
“Henry’s great,” she says. “That shading is incredible. I hope to be as good as him someday.” She
holds her arm toward me, pulling up her sleeve. “He did this one, but it was a drawing my mom did.”
She points to a mountain range with a moon hanging above. “Is it weird that I’m training to be a tattoo
artist and I still hide my ink from my father?” She twists her hair to the side and curls up on the couch,
blowing on the tea as it steams her face.
Why does she have to be so cute, so sweet, so innocent, so fucking gorgeous?
She’s perfect.
“It was ages ago, but I remember hiding tattoos from my parents until I was well into my thirties.”
I laugh. “Hell, if my mother were still around, I’d still be hiding them from her. I can still hear her
voice telling me I was going to end up on 60 Minutes.”
 Now I’m wondering if the more accurate show would be To Catch a Predator.
Penelope laughs and my heart lights. “My mom loved tattoos. I remember her having a little
sketchbook of ideas. I’m sure she told my dad they were doodles, but it’s one passion we shared. She
knew how old-fashioned my father was, and she’d laugh about it with me. Kindly, of course. I know
what a good guy my dad is. He’s just… overprotective of those he loves.”
I swallow hard and dunk my butter cookie into the earl gray.
Of course, he’s overprotective. Who wouldn’t be? I am with my own daughter. Hell, right about
now, I’d be kicking the living shit out of me.
Penelope takes a sip of her tea. “So I know you run the ranch, but not much else. How do I not
know more about you? You and my father have known each other forever, right?”
This is the part where I age myself and realize I’m the only one having these perversions, which is
fine. Knowing that will make everything else easier… I think.
I take another sip of tea. “Troy and I have known each other since we both served in the Army. We
went on a deployment overseas together. It’s funny because I grew up in Whiskey Falls, just thirty
minutes from here, and we had to go seven thousand miles to meet.”
She nods. “My friend Angel just enlisted. She’s a nurse. Did you go into the reserves afterward
like Dad?”
I shake my head. “Do you want the real story, or do you want the one your dad tells?”
She looks at me like I’ve lost her. “I guess both.” She chuckles. “I’m dying now to know how
they’re different.”
“Well, if you listen to your father, he says the reason I left was because of his incessant teasing.”
Her gaze locks to mine, her eyebrow raised. I smile back. “You see, when you enlist and your name is
Ranger Waylon, you probably shouldn’t join the Army. There, a Ranger is something much more
important than a first name. So, your dad would let me have it constantly. It was always in good fun,
but I think he’s the reason I started going by my last name only. That’s pretty common for soldiers and
it got him off my back.”
Penelope grins, as if she knows where I’m coming from. Something tells me Troy is the same with
anyone he’s close to.
I take another sip of my tea. “The truth of why I left is I developed some of the symptoms people
now call post-traumatic stress from an explosion at a restaurant I frequented on days off. I’m lucky to
be alive, but it caused enough flashbacks and nightmares that I couldn’t be an effective soldier
anymore. So, I got out and went back to Whiskey Falls.” I suck in a deep breath. “But that was what I
needed. I got back into the family business and when my father passed, I inherited the ranch. A few
years later, Kate came along, and it all came together, like it was destined to be.”
“Kate.” Penelope shifts her position, sets her mug on the table, then picks it up again. “Kate. Your
daughter Kate. She’s… eighteen, right?”
“Nineteen.”
Penelope runs her hand through her hair and looks toward me, then away. “Your wife must be
really happy that you got out when you did, and that you weren’t harmed.”
“Ah, no wife.” Fuck, I’m making myself sound like a mess. None the less, I continue. “When I got
home from the military, I dated a woman I knew from high school for a while. She left when the
flashbacks got to be too much. No forwarding address, no contact, nothing. She came back a few
years later and introduced me to my daughter.”
Penelope’s brows crinkle. “How’d you know she was really your daughter?”
I grin. “Well, she looked just like me. Anyway, I tried to have a relationship with her, but for the
most part, she lived with her mom in California. She’d come up to the ranch on summer break once a
year and now… she’s here full time.”
“You never wanted to remarry?” She shakes her head and holds up her hand, swallowing down a
gulp of her tea. “No. Sorry. I don’t know why I asked that. It’s none of my business. I do that. I’m
sorry.”
“You’re fine,” I laugh. “I don’t mind talking about it.” I shrug. “It’s not a mystery, anyway. I’ve
just stayed busy. Between the ranch and the rodeo there’s not much time left in my day. One day you
look up and half your life is gone.” Now I’ve really aged myself.
She tilts her head to the side and warms her hands with her mug. I notice now that there’s a cute
snowman design on the front that looks to fill in when the mug is hot. “I reckon you should find
yourself a woman that doesn’t mind going out there to help you. I know I’d want to be outside helping
my husband with chores, laughing together,” she giggles, “and rolling around in the hay.”
Fuck. Could she be any more perfect?
“That’d be nice, but from what I hear most women don’t want that. The idea of a ranch and all the
animals sounds fun… but reality hits a little different.”
“Oh, I get it. My cousins all had farms. They complained about doing chores and taking care of the
animals, but it was a lot of fun too. It’s how I want to raise my kids someday.”
Well, that’s where this fantasy should end. I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t have any
more children. It’s not that I don’t love kids, I do, but raising them takes time and energy I don’t have.
However, it doesn’t stop the fantasy. Instead, hearing her talk about wanting children
somehow makes me desperate to give them to her.
I’m definitely checking myself in somewhere once these security cameras are installed.
I turn back to see if Vick is still on the roof. “Looks like he’s almost done. I can see him at the
front tree by the driveway. I asked him to lodge one there to catch people as they pull in. That way,
you get a bit of a warning.”
“That’s smart,” she says, sipping her tea. As she does, the warm tea spills onto her chest,
glistening on her breasts like oil against her skin.
My heart stops for the fourth or fifth time in forty-eight hours and I sit there staring like a love-
struck teenager as she grabs a towel off the counter and brushes the liquid off. Her breasts bounce and
move with every touch.
My cock pays attention. I stand abruptly. “Well, I should get out there and see what Vick is doing.
I’ll make sure the system is up and running before I go. Catch you tomorrow morning at the ranch at
eight?”
Her face turns down. “Are you sure you have to run off? I have more cookies.”
“They were fantastic. Why don’t you bring them tomorrow? Everyone loves homemade treats.
They don’t get them enough.”
She nods. “Okay, but you’re welcome to wait in here until Vick is done.”
“Thank you,” I say, nearly to the door, “but I should really check on him. See you in the morning.”
When the door is finally closed, I suck in a deep breath, letting the cool air calm my nerves… and
my erection.
 Chapter Three
Penelope

Waylon’s ranch is the size of some small cities. I think someone said it expands over a couple
square miles. The place could be a national park. It’s monstrous, and though I’ve never been on the
ranch personally, I’ve heard it’s gorgeous. I don’t doubt it either. This is some of the most remote land
in Rugged Mountain. Hell, in all of Colorado.
Bull elk migrate through the area once a year and it’s not uncommon to come across grizzlies and
cinnamon bears on back roads. Sometimes, they even make their way down to Main Street.
Nature’s majesty aside, I’m currently questioning why I said yes to this job. Sure, I need the
money, but did I need it this bad? Bad enough that I want to torture myself with a sexy, too old for me,
too wrong for me cowboy all day long? If I’m honest, the answer should still be yes. Yes, with a side
of get yourself together, girl. It’s not, though. It’s more a murky, hot mess of desperation and anxiety,
so I call my friend Cora whose state of mind is much more logical than mine.
“I thought you were starting at the ranch this morning?” Water is running in the background. It
sounds like she’s washing dishes.
“I thought you were going to be here.”
“I’m on my way now.”
“No, you’re not. You’re cleaning.”
“I’m washing out the dog bowls. Are you the tattle committee now that you’re Waylon’s right-
hand… woman?”
“No, sorry.” I huff out the words and lean against the car window, focusing on the box breathing
my dad used to do with me. “I’m stressed about today. I was hoping you’d be here to cling to.”
“You can’t cling to me anyway, Pen. Your Waylon’s assistant. You’re going to be clinging to him.
Why are you stressed? Waylon is big and rough around the edges, but he’s like the nicest guy ever.
Plus… he’s kind of hot, right? For an old guy I mean.”
“Yeah.” I let the word trail off as I think of his big strong hands on my back yesterday. The scent
of cedar and pine on his skin. The way his hot breath felt tickling my neck as we embraced. I swear
he was savoring the moment. “That’s the thing…”
“What?” The sound of dog food pouring one nugget at a time echoes through the phone. “What’s
the thing?”
“He’s hot.” I say the words without thinking, hoping that somehow saying them out loud will
alleviate the pressure they’re putting on my heart, but they don’t. Now I just feel wrong. Really, really
wrong.
“Thankfully or unthankfully?” Cora laughs. “Why is it a problem that he’s hot?”
I bite my bottom lip and stare toward the ranch gate where a pickup truck pulls through with a few
bales of hay in the back. It’s Waylon, and it’s nearly eight.
“I should get going,” I say, holding my stomach as I put the car in drive.
“What? No. You don’t get to say something like that and rush off.” Her voice hits a higher pitch.
“Are you into Waylon? Like, into him?”
“I have to go. He’s pulling in, and I start in two minutes. I shouldn’t have called. Sorry…”
“Drive and talk,” she commands playfully. “I need details.”
“There are no details. I like a man who I shouldn’t under any circumstance be into. And now,
what I’d like to do is scratch the record where I said any of that out loud.” I draw in a deep breath as
I pull into the driveway. “Gotta go. Love you!” I disconnect the phone and follow Waylon’s truck into
the ranch, parking beside him at the main house. I say main house, because by the looks of things,
there are at least three houses that I can see from where I stand.
I sling my small leather bag over my shoulder and climb up out of my shitty little car, reminding
myself that I’m here to make money. I’m here to fix my life. I’m here to pay my rent. I’m here to do
anything other than recreate a romance novel in my head with a man who was so disgusted by me
yesterday, he ran out of the cabin like a monster was after him.
“You made it.” Waylon grins and adjusts the buckle on his jeans as he steps from the truck. His
gaze is on mine, and it’s intense.
My panties are melting already. This was a mistake.
“I’ll show you the office and give you the list of tasks. If you need me to go over anything
again, feel free to ask.” He smiles as I hand him the tin of cookies he asked for yesterday. “You
remembered! I’m glad you did. I have to admit, though, I may have lied saying I’d share them.” His
gaze meets mine with focus. “I’m not a fan of sharing.”
I follow him toward the massive house made of long stained logs and river rock. Out front, there’s
a porch that sits two rocking chairs and a perfect view of the hills and mountains overlooking the
ranch. I imagine Waylon sitting out here at the end of a long day with a glass of brandy, thinking about
all he’s accomplished. By the looks, it’s more than I can comprehend.
Stepping in through the front door, the floors are solid wood, maybe pine. The walls are
painted dark green and accented with an ornate wallpaper toward the bottom with a chair railing
dividing the two. The décor is western and tasteful with photos of horses lining the walls. Some are
elegant and artsy with their hair flowing in the wind. Others are more formal and showcase the horse
with first place ribbons.
There’s a beautiful staircase to the second level on the left, and if we were to keep going straight,
we’d end up in what looks to be a massive chef’s kitchen with marble countertops and a double
fridge.
How does this man not have a woman in his life? You’d think they’d be throwing themselves all
over him.
Turning left, we head into Waylon’s office. It’s a dark room with the same décor as the rest of the
house, except there’s a heavy wood desk that sits on the far edge in front of a wall of bookshelves. In
front of the desk, are two leather chairs. Behind them a leather sofa facing the opposite direction,
staring at a television screen that displays security cameras around the ranch.
“Please, have a seat.” Waylon waits for me to sit before seating himself in a large leather chair
behind his desk. His gesture is old fashioned, and I like it.
He passes a paper across the front of the desk and leans in. “Most of the job entails keeping
inventory of things on the ranch. You’ll need to visit the barn each day and take note of the tacking
equipment. Then visit the—”
“Tacking equipment?”
He nods and looks away, brushing his hand across his beard before grinning. “You know what the
tacking equipment is, right?”
The way he says it, I feel like I should know, but I don’t. I shake my head.
He grins wider. “Well, that’s important. You’re not going to know what’s out of stock unless you
know what we have. I’ll take you down to the horse barn after this and we can take a look.”
I’m already in the way. God, this is humiliating.
 “The other part of the job is going to be sticking by me. Helping me out as needed, making calls
on the fly, being my left-hand woman. Are you comfortable with all that?”
I nod and bite my lip. He has no idea how good that sounds to me, accidentally brushing up
against him, sucking in his scent, listening to the rich tenor of his voice every day. “That sounds fine.”
“Good,” he nods. “Let’s get going then. I have a meeting with the guys before they head out on a
cattle drive this morning.”
I get the feeling he’s making this up as he goes along, at least the part about what my duties are,
though I could be wrong. Maybe he was disappointed by my lack of knowledge on horse supplies,
and he gave up. That’s the most likely scenario. You can tell the man is a genius when it comes to
business. That’s obvious.
My phone, which I’ve forgotten to turn off, buzzes in my back pocket. I glance up at Waylon. “I’m
so sorry. I’ll—”
It’s David. His picture turns my stomach as I pull the phone to ignore the call.
“Have you talked to him since yesterday?” Waylon’s voice grows dark.
I shake my head. “No, but I’m going to have to soon, or he’s going to show up at the cabin.”
“You have security now. If he does, he won’t get far before the cops and I show up.”
“You?”
“I had Vick put an alert on my phone, so I’d know if anyone was messing with you. I told you I’d
keep you safe, and I will.”
“You don’t have to do all this, Waylon. I can take care of it.”
Waylon’s large hand lands on my shoulder again and he steps in closer, his gaze on mine with soft
intensity.
When I was a kid, I tried to climb a fence at my cousin’s ranch. In seconds, I learned how
electricity worked as I sailed back ten feet across the field. It scared the hell out of me and left me
nearly unconscious. This is that feeling. This is that feeling times ten. Except with Waylon, I want to
grab the electricity and hold on for dear life.
His hand brushes my cheek, and for the second time since I saw him again, I’d swear he were
feeling this too.
“You’re worth protecting.” His voice is deep and nearly a whisper.
I tip up onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. It’s instinctual, like a hug you’d give
someone to thank them for their help. Except this hug is more. I know it’s more even before it
happens. And when it does, every feeling I have is confirmed. I have to have Waylon. There’s no way
around it.
 Chapter Four
Waylon

Should my mouth be watering? Should my skin be vibrating like some archaic creature that
can’t be controlled? Should my hands be aching to touch every square inch of her body? Should my
eyes be desperate to drag over her frame and appreciate every curve?
No. The logical answer is no. But before I comprehend what’s happening, I’m moving. I’m
backing her up slowly. I have one hand above her head and the other on the front of her neck, as
though pinning her to the wall.
I’m a bear, like the one I caught breaking into the feed barn last week. No sound, no warning, no
gunshot could stop him. His focus was single. He made it out with a bag of oats before I got him out
of the barn, but I’m not sure the deterrents we built will stop him. Actually, if he’s operating anything
like me right now, I know they won’t.
Penelope sighs into my touch and holds her gaze on me.
Am I crazy? Does she want me too?
She couldn’t, right? She’s young, beautiful, and smart. She could have whatever and whomever
she wants. Why would she want me?
Her hand runs over my chest and into my beard. Her gaze on me, she whispers, “Give me more.”
Fuck.
I press my thumb onto her soft lower lip and bounce my gaze from there to her eyes over and over
until she tips up onto her toes. Her body calls for me… and I answer.
I angle in closer, my cock hard as I press against her frame gently, growling low in her ear. “This
is dangerous, darling. You know that, right?”
Her hand slides through my beard and up toward my Stetson. She follows the rim with the tip of
her finger and stares toward me, flushed. “Why is this dangerous? Because of my father? He doesn’t
have to know.”
She leans her head against the wall and her neck arches, accentuating her hard nipples as they
poke through her shirt. Fuck. I’d give anything to slide my tongue over those tiny buds and suck.
I drag my hand through her silky hair and onto her cheek again. “That’s the thing, darling. If you let
me taste you, I don’t think I could quit.”
Penelope looks up at the ceiling, closes her eyes, gathers her breath, and looks at me slowly.
“What’s happening here, Waylon? Why do I feel like I can’t stop it?”
“Do you want to stop it? Tell me you do, and I’ll walk away before either of us gets hurt.”
She stares at me for a long second. My pulse beats hard, waiting for her response. I don’t know
what I’ll do if she asks me to stop. I need her, no matter the consequences. I need this woman against
my skin.
Her gaze draws to mine again. Her lips part as she lets breathless moments pass between us. The
intensity like waves crashing against the breakers, until she opens the flood gates with, “I want you,
Waylon.”
I crash into her mouth and kiss her lips with fervor, holding her close to my frame as she moans
into the touch. Her tits press against me, and my hands explore her with wild need. Hungry for her, I
suck the nape of her neck, and lick the lobe of her ear.
“I want to be gentle, darling, but I don’t know if I can.”
 “Be rough, Waylon. Be you. Take me. Take me like you can’t live with yourself if you didn’t.”
Oh, I’m gonna take her.
My fingertips press into her hips as my other hand holds the back of her neck.
She kisses my lips and holds my face in her grip as I work my hand beneath her flirty skirt and
onto her thick thighs.
My body rumbles with desire as I inch closer to her seam, dancing my fingertips over the damp
cotton panties that keep me from diving in further.
She moans and leans her head back again. “Touch me, Waylon. Please.”
The door knocks, but I ignore it, pulling her panties to the side to press two fingers between her
folds. I’m slow at first, then deliberate, getting off on every soft sigh she pants. I could bend her over
right here, make her mine, claim her like the bear claimed my feed shed.
The door knocks again, louder this time.
“Do you think we should get that?” she pants. “Someone will hear us.”
“No one can hear us. The walls are thick. The door is made of solid wood. Come for me. I need
to see you come.”
Her lips fall open and she arches and wiggles against my touch. My thumb rubs her clit in circles
as I thrust my fingers. Her moans are hushed like she’s trying to hide our indiscretion. Somehow that
heightens everything.
“I want to come for you, Waylon… then I want your cock. I want your cock in my virgin pussy. I
want you to make me yours.” Her tone is thirsty, and I want to quench her every desire, but a virgin? I
wasn’t expecting this twist. I’m sure it would scare most men my age. Hell, maybe it should scare me.
Instead, it turns me on. The thought of sinking to her tight little body and making it mine sends me to a
place I can’t return from. I don’t deserve her, but I need her now.
She drags her hand down over her neck and stares toward me with desire. “Please…”
Heat builds in my lungs and boils beneath my skin as my cock stands to attention, ready for action.
The door knocks again. This time it’s followed by a loud voice. “Waylon, the guys are ready to
leave on the cattle drive. We need approval on which pasture we’re running to.”
Penelope looks toward me, her eyes wide, her face white as the snow. “Is that my dad?”
I suck in a deep breath, knowing we’ve gone as far as we’re going to today. Maybe as far as we’ll
ever go. “Yeah, that’s him.”
 Chapter Five
Penelope

The three of us stand in the hallway outside of Waylon’s office. I study my father, watching as
he bites the inside of his cheek.
Does he know what I’ve been doing? Can he smell Waylon all over me?
Only a second ago, Waylon, his best friend, had his hand inside of me.
I repeat that statement in my head over and over trying to gather some reasoning with it, but I
can’t.
“The guys are ready to head out, but you never confirmed which pasture we were driving to,” Dad
says, both hands tucked into his jeans. He glances toward me. “How’s the first day going, dear?
Getting everything all figured out?”
I nod, but he pauses and stares toward me as though I’ve just murdered a man and left the blood
all over the kitchen floor.
“What?” I narrow my gaze at him.
He points toward my neck. “What happened? Please tell me that’s not a hickey. You’re a grown
woman. You shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that. You know… this is the influence of those people
down at that tattoo shop, isn’t it?”
I try not to glance toward Waylon, as I’m pretty sure that would give us up right away, but I feel
him tensing beside me.
“She’s fine, man. Let’s move on. Get those cows out to the south pasture. Cora wanted a ride too,
I think.”
“Cora? She’s never been on a drive before. We’ve already got Kate out there. You want two new
riders on one trip?”
“Fuck. I forgot about that. No, just take Kate. We’ll schedule Cora for the next one.”
I’m throwing him off his game already, and Dad notices something is up.
He shakes his head and looks up at Waylon. “I need a moment with my daughter.”
Waylon tenses beside me, and then I feel it… his hand on my back. “Do you want me to leave?”
Fractals of terror waver through me as he holds his hand in place.
Why is he touching me, now? He should know better.
Dad glares up at Waylon, then down at his hand. “I didn’t realize you two were so close. Did I
miss something?” There’s a bite in his tone that’s unapproving and dark, like he wants to snap, but
he’s holding onto hope that he’s seeing things wrong.
Waylon moves his hand up to the back of my neck, rubs at the tight muscles that are bunching, then
says to my father, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
My father’s eyes glaze over, and he steps toward Waylon with rage. “Like fuck you don’t. What’s
going on between you two? How long has it been happening? She’s twenty-four, Waylon. Get a
fucking grip!”
“It’s nothing, Dad.” I step between them and look toward my father, lying to him for the first time
in my life. “It’s nothing. Really. We’re just friends. Waylon’s been listening to me rant about the tattoo
shop and that’s it.” I should get an Oscar for my performance, it’s so convincing.
Waylon’s hand drops from my frame and my father sucks in a deep breath, pausing for a long
minute before speaking again.
 “Well, fuck.” He gathers himself and backs away from Waylon. “Sorry about that. I reckon my
head has been up my ass somewhere lately. Tired, I guess.” He glances at us both with regret. “Will
you forgive me?”
Great. He’s really sorry and I’m the asshole lying to him. What’s wrong with me?
“I’m the one who should be sorry, Dad. I’ll stop by after work and make you dinner. It’s been a
while since I stopped over.”
He grins as though that takes away the pain, then nods. “That would be nice, dear. I’ll see you
then.”
I smile softly as he walks out the front door, then turn back toward Waylon who doesn’t look as
amused.
“Is this really nothing to you? Cause I’ve been struggling for days trying to get you out of my head
and then this. I thought you were feeling it too.”
I suck in a harsh breath. “Would you prefer I tell my father that I’m desperate to fuck his best
friend?”
“I think you should’ve been honest. We were at the threshold. We could have ripped off the Band-
Aid.”
“Are you really that crass that you’d tell a man something so awful while he was at work?”
“Crass? For being honest?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Crass for not understanding basic human decency.”
“So, lying is human decency?”
“It wasn’t a lie!” I shout the statement louder than I’d planned.
“So then,” his tone is more tense than it had been before, “this is nothing to you?”
I close my eyes and grab my bag off the hook inside his office then look toward Waylon, ready to
finish off the rest of my award-winning performance. “Yes, this was a mistake. Thank you for the
opportunity, Waylon, but I think I might find a better fit elsewhere.” I walk down the hall and toward
the front door, sick to my stomach knowing that I’m going against everything I want, everything my
body is telling me it needs. But if that one single interaction is any hint of how my father would react
to a relationship between Waylon and I, then I have my answer. This can’t happen, and there’s no use
dragging that out.
***
I have dinner made before Dad gets home from work. It’s my only night off at the tattoo shop and
I’d planned on getting some things done around the cabin, but I felt so guilty after our meeting earlier,
this feels like the right place to be.
“Smells good in here,” he says, kicking off his boots the second he walks in the door. Since my
mom passed ten years ago, it’s only been the two of us, and I’ve cherished every moment. Sure, he
doesn’t agree with me on my profession, and he’s old fashioned, but he’s my father and he loves me. I
know that without a shadow of a doubt. The man would drop everything to help me. He always has. I
don’t know what I was thinking messing around with Waylon.
“Steak and potatoes… with Mom’s famous seasoning. Your favorite.”
He hugs me then grabs a beer for both of us before settling at the kitchen table. “What did I do to
deserve all this?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the truth keeps itself locked inside like it should. “I just
figured you deserved a little pampering. You work hard. How are things?”
“Good. We got the cows out to the pasture. Kate, Waylon’s daughter, is a natural. I think some of
the guys were hitting on her too much, though. It’s so gross to see these old men hitting on young girls.
Also, Austin, Waylon’s cousin, came into town for this one. He stays isolated up in that mountain
cabin most of the year and only shows up when we need an extra man for a drive. He’s a little odd if
you ask me.”
My stomach hardens, and not for his words about Austin. I don’t know the man and my father has
been known to be a poor judge of character. But the mention of Kate, and her budding age gap
romance, hits too close to home. “Well, I mean, if they like each other, and they both agree to the
relationship, it doesn’t really matter how old they are, right?”
“I guess I’m just old fashioned.” He cuts into his steak and takes a bite, moaning. “Tastes just like
your mother used to make. You do her proud, kiddo.”
I sigh and take a sip of the beer on the table. “You ever think of dating again, Dad? It has to get
lonely up here all by yourself. I know what you and Mom had was special and I’m sure you can’t
recreate that, but some companionship would be nice, right?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone else
around. Other times, I think it would be a mistake. All I know… is that I have you.”
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand gently. “Always, but it might do you good to have a
partner again. Someone who can be here every day with you.”
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slow as my father contemplates what I’m saying. Then out of
nowhere, he says, “How are you and David? Did he give you that mark on your neck? If he did, I’m
going to have a talk with him because that’s totally inappropriate. I’m surprised Waylon didn’t fire
you today.”
I push my food around on the plate, thinking of how it was Waylon that had me pressed up against
the wall, with his inked arms blocking me in as he sucked on my neck. A chill runs down my back and
into my groin, but I try to ignore it. “David and I broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
“Broke up? You looked so great together. I figured I’d be marrying you two together soon. What
happened, and who gave you that thing then?” He gestures toward my neck.
I tried covering it up, but I guess I should’ve worn a turtleneck. Maybe he would’ve forgotten.
With my eyes on my plate, I suck in the steaming scent of Mom’s special seasoning. It really does
smell good. Who doesn’t like fresh garlic and rosemary with a hint of paprika? Can we talk about
that instead?
“David and I weren’t the best match,” I offer, keeping the answer vague. “We wanted different
things.”
My dad’s brows narrow. He lifts the bottle of beer to his lips then sets it down slowly. “And the
mark on your neck then?”
I run my hand over the heat Waylon left behind, then glance at my father, before staring back at my
mashed potatoes I’ve shaped into a small horse. It’s like I’m thirteen all over again trying to hide the
fact that I skipped school to ride into the city with my much older, licensed friends. Except this time,
there’s no way in hell I’m coming clean. And the older friend… is his best friend.
This is a mess.
“It’s nothing. I burned myself with the curling iron.”
He tips his head to the side and stares at me as though I’m insulting him with my ridiculousness,
but I ignore his gesture and grab the apple pie I’ve made from the fridge.
“It’s homemade. Took me two hours from start to finish. I used some of the apples I saved from
Fall-Fest.”
“Two hours? When did you find the time for that? You were at the ranch all afternoon, weren’t
you?”
 Damn it. I really shouldn’t be trusted with lies of this caliber. The award academy is going to be
very disappointed in this performance. They may even retract the Oscar.
“I don’t think that job is for me, Dad. But that’s okay. I called Henry and Gage, and they said they
have some work I can do at the shop until I’m licensed.”
“What?” My father’s eyes narrow and his voice grows louder. “Why would you quit the ranch?
Waylon was doing me a personal favor. Something happened between you two today, didn’t it?”
My stomach clenches and my pulse races as I yearn for the truth to stay tucked away.
“No,” I say, my pitch high, “I don’t know as much about horse stuff as Waylon thought. I’d need to
do inventory and I can’t do that if I don’t know what supplies you all need.”
“You’d learn,” Dad presses. “That’s the point of training. He teaches everyone. Do you think your
friend Cora knew this stuff when she started?”
“She had a clue. Her family owns a horse ranch. I was only around horses every now and then
with my cousins. I don’t know the details of tack and whatever else,” I huff. “The point is,” I say,
standing from the table, “it wasn’t a good fit.” I look down at my phone. “It’s getting pretty late. I
should probably get back before the roads get too bad.”
Dad nods, though I see the disappointment in his eyes. Part of me expects him to beg me to stay, or
press for more information, but he doesn’t. “Thank you for cooking all this. Let me know when you’re
home safe, okay?”
I nod and hug him tight before heading out into the fresh air of the night. It’s raining, but the cool
air is the refreshing jolt I need to drive home. Rain patters against the windshield and the wipers
sway back and forth gently washing away the drips of water that fall. I love nights like tonight. The
ground is damp, and the earth smells like cedar and moss. It reminds me of getting lost in the forest as
a kid. Not actually lost, but amidst the trees, away from the rest of the world.
It's a nice night to crack a window, put a log on the fire, and read a book until I pass out. I can
worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.
See… I’m already growing as a person.
At least, I think I am until I pull up to the cabin and see David standing on the front porch.
I didn’t get an alert on my phone that the alarm went off. Maybe I forgot to arm the keypad. I was
running out of the house this morning a nervous wreck to get to work. Part of me thinks I should keep
driving, but most of me wants whatever he has to say to be over with so maybe we can both move on
with our lives.
I step from the truck into the now pouring rain and run toward the porch, shivering as a cool wind
whips in behind me.
David attempts a gentlemanly move of offering me is coat, but I refuse and back away.
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk.”
“We’ve talked. We’ve talked until we were blue in the face. What else could we say?”
“I miss you, Penelope. I miss us.”
“Which version of us, David? The one where you pretend your nice, or the one where your mask
falls and you’re shoving me across a room?”
He bares his teeth and steps toward me.
The me from two days ago would’ve cowered at his move, but this me… doesn’t give a fuck.
I step toward him, widening my shoulders, refusing to backdown. “Get off my property.”
He laughs. “You don’t own anything. We rent this place together.”
“Whose name is on the lease, David?”
 He doesn’t answer, because he knows the truth. This cabin was rented by me right after high
school. I paid the rent. I paid the utilities. I only put his name on a shared bank account a couple
months ago because he needed a place for his direct deposit to go and I thought we’d be getting
married. I was wrong. Very happily wrong.
He grips my arm and squeezes, but I lift my knee with a heavy thump, and get him where it counts.
His angular frame backs away from me long enough that I’m able to unlock the front door and get into
the house. It’s then that I see the frame of a man I wasn’t expecting. He stands in the driveway, soaking
wet. Wide and grimaced, like a wild, uninhibited animal in the night.
My heart leaps away from my chest and crushes within all at once.
It’s Waylon, and he looks hungry as a bear.
 Chapter Six
Waylon

I stare through the pouring rain at David, whom I warned once already. My grandfather taught me
that a man gets one warning. One chance to make things right. Then, anything after that is his
responsibility. The world owes him nothing. Grandpa was a tough son of a bitch, but he had to be. He
came from a line of ranchers that worked the land and lived off the word of one another. Life may
have changed some, but at the core we’re all the same. We all want to be trusted, and we want to
trust.
“Fuck, old man,” David laughs. “You stalking her or something? I’ll kick your ass.”
I laugh. “I’d like to see you try, little boy.”
David lunges toward me, but I stop him with one hand, holding him back as he kicks and flails
like a little girl. It’s hilarious, so I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re going to hurt yourself, David.” I say the words with a straight face as I look toward the
poor kid who’s quite honestly, embarrassing himself.
He finally stops when the cabin door creaks open. It’s my girl, holding a hunting rifle. She’s
aimed it at David.
“I’m not asking you again. There’s a no trespassing law in Colorado.”
David shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Seriously, bitch? You’re going to shoot me?” He
scoffs. “I dare you.”
Penelope flips the safety off and shouts, “Last chance. Don’t forget, I grew up hunting rabbit,
so my aim is set for a chase.”
I want to laugh, hug her, hold her, tell her how proud of her I am for all the sweet fuckery she’s
pulling.
David shakes his head and raises his hands. “Whatever, bitch. You’re fucking crazy. Fuck the
old man. I’m sure your dad will be real proud.” He walks back to his truck, his head down as he
passes.
When he’s out of earshot, Penelope calls out, “I have dry clothes you can wear.” Her voice is
nearly a whisper as she settles the gun back inside the door frame.
I don’t say a word. I don’t know what to say. My brain has looped into that place again where I’m
an animal and she’s the prey. I step up onto the porch and back her against the wall of the cabin,
hungry. “I need to kiss you.”
She shakes her head, but it’s not convincing.
I lean into her ear and growl low. “Then let’s go inside so I can make you come.”
She whispers, “You know how bad I want all of those things, but then what? What about my
father? What about your friendship? What about us? If we do this, it feels good for ten minutes, and
then everyone is devastated.”
“Look at me.” I tip her chin up to my vision. “I don’t know what we’re doing to everyone else. I
only know what this feels like. And I know that the second you walked away, I needed you again. I
needed you like a glass of water in a dry, desert sandstorm. I can’t walk away, Penelope. I won’t.” I
run my hand down over her shoulder. “Tell me you don’t feel this too…”
Her gaze stays hot on mine despite the icy rain falling around us. “You know how I feel, Waylon.
Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
 “It only has to be hard for a second, then the rest of our life will make sense. If we walk away
from this feeling now, we’ll live with years of what could’ve been. Do you want that?”
She draws in a sharp breath, and I stare toward her with heated eyes. “I need to kiss you,
Penelope.”
Her hand moves over my shoulder and onto my chest. “I need you, Waylon. I need more than a
kiss. Tell me you won’t leave. Tell me we’ll work this out together.”
I run my thumb over her lower lip and look toward her. Heat detonates throughout my body.
“Of course I want you forever, Penelope. We’ll figure everything out, but I want you to—”
She tips up onto her toes and kisses me. Soft at first, then harder. The electric touch of her tongue
sends a carnal urge through me that’s undeniable.
Holding her jaw in my hand, I growl, “You’re playing with fire, darling. If you don’t want this,
stop now, or I’ll be uncontrollable.”
She lifts her leg to my hip and stares up at me, brushing her small hands over my beard as rain
falls heavy around us. “No regrets.”
I bend and lift Penelope in my arms, carrying her inside the warm cabin. Her cheeks are pink, and
the dreamy look in her eye sends a current of electricity straight to my throbbing cock.
Thankfully, the cabin is small, with only one bedroom so it’s easy to find my way. It’s a good
thing, too. I’m not sure I could wait much further than the ten feet it takes to get there.
Laying her curved body down on the bed, I tug at the little skirt I’d slipped my hand up earlier that
afternoon, sliding it to the floor, followed by her panties.
She’s trembling. My darling, so soft and sweet. “Tell me what you want, Penelope. I’ll give it to
you.”
She sighs. “I can’t. I…”
“You most certainly can. Ask me for anything, and it’s yours.”
Her hair splays out behind her in a brilliant blonde waterfall as her knees spread slowly. “I want
your lips… and your tongue.”
“Good girl,” I groan, desperate to hear her say all the dirty things she wants from me. “Where do
you want my lips?”
“I can’t,” she whines.
“Be that brave girl I saw outside holding the gun. Tell me what you need.” I graze my rough palm
over the soft center of her body. “Where do you want my lips?”
She bites her lower lip, trying to hide a smile, then stares down at me with deep brown eyes that
wake-up parts of my heart I didn’t know existed. “On my pussy… please.”
The ‘please’ at the end of her sentence has my cock hard as a rock. She’s sweet, even in her dirty
talk.
I groan and lean into her core, stroking my hot, slick tongue over her clit.
She cries out and arches away from the mattress.
I slide a hand under her ass and grip her close, as she inadvertently thrusts her hips into my face.
“What else do you want, darling? Do you want my fingers in that sweet little slit?”
She moans and whines. “Yes, please.”
Her permission is everything. I slide two fingers inside her tight pussy and thrust them, harder and
harder. In and out, repeatedly until she’s moving her hips in rhythm with my touch. I could get lost in
this feeling all day, all night, all week… forever.
When she makes a wheezing sound, and squeezes my hand with her thighs, I know she’s about
to come. It’s then, that I pull out, licking her clit one last time before moving to the edge of the bed to
tug my jeans to the ground.
“What are you doing?” she pants. “Come back. I was about to come. I’m calling the shots,
remember?”
I smile and kiss her mound one last time before stroking my thumb over her rigid nipples. When
she whines in pleasure, I pinch them. “Mmm,” I growl, low in her ear. “I like watching you squirm.”
She grips my cock in her hand and strokes me back and forth, arching her neck back to receive my
teeth as they scrape over her skin. “Fuck me, Waylon. Please! Fuck me now!”
Her pouty lip puckers out toward me, and a rawness I can’t control abounds. I need her now. No
more waiting.
 Chapter Seven
Penelope

“It’s your turn.” I stroke his cock back and forth in my hand. It’s huge. Oversized like the rest of
him.
He pants when he responds, “My turn for what?”
“Calling the shots,” I huff, stroking him faster. “Tell me what you want.”
His brows raise. “Are you sure about that?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip as a quiver of anxiety washes over me. Am I ready for this? Can I
handle whatever he’s about to say? He’s more experienced than me. He could ask for anything.
In a low, dominant voice, he says, “Suck my dick.” It’s a simple command, but it sends a shock of
yearning straight through me. My clit throbs and my heart pounds as I fall to my knees before him,
angling my lips onto his thick cock. I suck and wrap my fingers around his girth and pull. Fast then
slow, I pump, twisting my tongue in erratic circles like I’ve seen women do in porn.
His fingers slip through my hair and the low throaty groan in his throat tells me I’m doing
something he likes. I work faster, and harder, desperate to taste him.
“Eyes on me, darling. Always look at me.”
A lump grows in my throat as my pussy swells. God, I want him. I want his come on my face,
on my tits, in my throat, inside of me… everywhere. I want him, everywhere.
He brushes his hand back through my hair as I lick his cock and stare straight up at him.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Do you have a condom? I wasn’t expecting this.”
I figure he’s bringing it up because he wants to fuck, which I want more than anything.
“Do we need one? I mean… I don’t think I can walk away from this and be okay. I need your
cock, Waylon.” I lay back on the bed without being asked, my gaze never leaving his.
He rubs his fingers back and forth over my swollen clit. “You’re so fucking wet. If we do this, you
know the risks, right?”
“Is a baby a risk?”
“Fuck no,” he growls, brushing his hand along the side of my face. “I didn’t think I wanted babies
again, but fuck,” he groans, “with you, I want it all.”
Realizing the logical part of our brains are certainly offline is something I’m sure will hit me
come morning. But right now, all I want his Waylon. I can’t picture a world where we don’t figure
things out. Where he isn’t the father of my children. Where he isn’t my forever love.
“Then fuck me, Waylon. I can’t take the wait anymore. Please!”
A low, animal growl rumbles through is chest. He takes off his t-shirt, kneels on the bed, lifts my
left leg onto his shoulder, and brushes the head of his cock against my swollen pussy. Even the tip
engorges me further.
“Tell me if this hurts, darling.” He fondles me slowly. My breasts, my hips, then the curve of my
lips. It’s almost as though he’s memorizing every part of my body, mapping the lines and valleys as
though he never wants to forget. The thing is, I believe in his touch. It’s not ancillary and rushed. It’s
not forced. It’s genuine and slow. It’s metered and sure. And the way he looks at me… it’s as though
he’s Prince Charming and I’m the girl in the romance novel.
He presses into me further, and a lump forms in my throat. I close my eyes to ride the pain as his
thickness spreads me open.
 Softly he says, “Eyes on me.”
I open them slowly and he watches me with a burning gaze as he presses in further.
At first, I wonder if he likes the look of pain on my face. Then I realize it’s more than that. He’s
studying me. He’s still memorizing.
“Good girl,” he groans. “I want to see the look in your eyes when I’m deep inside that tight little
pussy.”
My clit throbs and my hips begin to rock gently against his cock. It’s involuntary, almost like I’m
scratching an itch. A giant, oversized, broad-shouldered itch.
I suck in a deep breath and keep my eyes on his, watching his face as he watches mine. He’s
gorgeous and rough. His hands are like fine grit sandpaper as they move against me. The ink on his
arms tells his story as he thumps and thrusts.
The slicker I get, the deeper he plunges, and soon the pain I’d felt disappears and all that’s left is
a needy throbbing.
Reaching a finger down, he rubs my clit in circles, thrumming a rhythm in tune with his body as he
slams into me, over and over again.
“Do you need to come, darling?”
I whimper and nod, staring up at him through the darkness, the scent of sweat and cedar in the air.
“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you want to come.”
I moan. “I want to come, Waylon. I want to come so hard. Give everything to me.”
As though we’ve been cursed by some otherworldly demon designed only to cheat people of
orgasms, the alarm system begins to sound. Loud and echoing, the noises pierce our ears, but I don’t
care. I won’t wait any longer.
I grip his arm tight. “Don’t stop.”
There’s wild abandon in his eyes. I know we’re on the same page.
He grips my hips tighter and groans deep in his throat. “I turned the alarm on when we walked in.
I should see why it’s going off.” He can barely manage his sentences.
“No,” I pant. “Stay.”
He thrusts harder and faster, pumping into me, spreading me wider, circling my clit as the alarm
whirs over the speaker outside. Then all at once, electricity crackles over my skin and pebbles of
goosebumps rise.
“Don’t look away,” Waylon growls. “Tell me you need it. Tell me you need my come.”
On the edge of orgasm, I pant, “I need your come. I want it all.”
Violent shocks of pleasure jolt through me until I’m convulsing beneath him.
He doesn’t stop. Thrust after thrust, he presses into me, groaning out as he comes.
The alarm howls and a loud banging now hits the side of the house. Waylon looks down at me.
“It’s probably a crossed wire, and the police got notified. I know the Sheriff lives up here. If he was
on call, they probably sent him over.” He kisses my forehead and stands from the bed. “Don’t worry.
I’ll be right back.”
He isn’t gone for a minute before I hear my father’s voice booming through the tiny cabin and I’m
pretty sure it’s official… my life is over.
 Chapter Eight
Waylon

I knew this was coming, but I sure as hell didn’t think it would be now.
“We can talk about this, Troy. We’ve been buddies forever. I—”
“You’re nearly naked, standing in my daughter’s cabin. There’s nothing left to say.” Troy rolls up
his sleeves as though he wants to fight.
“I deserve it,” I say, widening my shoulders on the porch of the cabin. “Give it to me.”
I expect him to haul out and deck me. If I were him, I’d drag me across the forest and toss me
off the edge of a mountain.
Troy balls his fist and stands in front of me with the unwavering look of a man on the edge.
“Daddy?” Penelope swings back the cabin door and steps between us, wearing a disheveled
version of the outfit she’d had on today. Still though, she looks gorgeous.
“Out of the way, sweetheart. I’m protecting you from this asshole. I’m sorry I ever brought him
into our lives.”
“He’s not an asshole, Daddy. I love him.”
Love. The words from her lips are all I need to hear. I love her too. I love that woman so much
I’m fighting with myself not to grip her in my arms right here and now.
“Love?” Troy gasps. “This is worse than I thought. Go back in the house, Penelope.”
She shakes her head. “I won’t. I won’t go back in the house, Daddy. I stayed with David way too
long because I was afraid of disappointing you. Do you know how awful he was to me? I hide all the
progress I’m making at the tattoo shop because I know how much you hate that I’m there, but I’m
good! I’m really good. Henry says I have potential to be a featured artist in a few years.” She rolls up
her sleeve. “And this… tattoo was one of Mom’s designs. She drew it for me, and I’ve hidden it from
you because the thought of disappointing you was too much. But not anymore.” Penelope digs her
small hand into mine and stands next to me. “I don’t know how it happened, but I fell in love with
Waylon. He’s strong, he protects me, and I want us to have a future together. A future you should be a
part of.”
Troy’s fist remains tight as he stares off into the distant forest. He’s hurting. I know he is. He
hasn’t been with anyone since Becca died ten years ago. And Penelope, or rather the version of
Penelope he wanted, is all he’s had. The bolt of reality must be overwhelming.
He looks toward me, then down at Penelope, who’s holding my hand so tight she’s actually cutting
off a bit of circulation. I’m so fucking proud of this girl. She’s stood up to everyone today.
“I need to talk to Waylon alone,” Troy says, standing on the opposite side of the porch.
Penelope looks up toward me, then back at her father. “Don’t fight him, Daddy. Promise me.”
“It’ll be okay.” I turn toward her and kiss her head softly. She looks up at me with the same
innocent eyes she did when we first met and I’m awe struck, desperate to be alone with her again,
desperate to tell her I love her back, desperate to hold her close.
When she’s tucked back into the house, I settle into the rocking chair next to the front door and
stare out at the dark pouring rain. “I’m sorry this is happening this way.”
“Me too,” he says, settling next to me. “How’d all this happen?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I saw her with David, he was treating her bad, and we had this connection.
It’s a feeling that’s deeper than anything I’ve ever felt… it washed over me like a wave. I’m in love
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Les
républiques de l'Amérique du Sud
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Les républiques de l'Amérique du Sud

Leurs guerres et leur projet de fédération

Author: Elisée Reclus

Release date: September 7, 2023 [eBook #71588]

Language: French

Original publication: Paris: Revue des deux mondes, 1865

Credits: Claudine Corbasson, Charlene Taylor, Adrian Mastronardi

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LES

RÉPUBLIQUES DE L'AMÉRIQUE DU SUD ***
Aux lecteurs
Notes

LES RÉPUBLIQUES
DE

L’AMÉRIQUE DU SUD
LEURS GUERRES ET LEUR PROJET DE FÉDÉRATION

I. Union latino-americana, pensamiento de Bolivar,

por J. M. Torres Caicedo; Paris, Rosa y Bouret,
1865.—II. Proyectos de tratado para fundar una
liga sud-americana, presentados por los
plenipotenciarios del Ecuador, de Bolivia, de
Chile, del Peru, de los Estados-Unidos de
Colombia, etc.
 Au point de vue purement géographique, la plus grande partie de
l’Amérique du Sud est admirablement disposée pour être habitée par
des peuples unis. Ce continent, plus simple encore dans son
architecture que ne l’est l’Amérique du Nord, elle-même si
remarquable par son caractère d’unité, peut être considéré dans son
ensemble comme une longue série de montagnes et de plateaux se
dressant parallèlement au Pacifique et s’affaissant par degrés à l’est
pour former une immense plaine doucement inclinée. Si l’Amérique
méridionale ressemble à l’Afrique par ses contours généraux, elle en
diffère singulièrement par la structure interne et l’harmonie parfaite
de toutes ses parties. Tandis que la plupart des contrées du littoral
africain sont complétement isolées les unes des autres et forment
autant de territoires distincts à cause des solitudes et des terres
inconnues qui les séparent, le seul aspect de la carte montre que les
divers pays de l’Amérique du Sud, appuyés sur la grande épine
dorsale des Andes, arrosés par les tributaires des mêmes fleuves,
sont dans une intime dépendance mutuelle: comparables aux perles
d’un collier, ils constituent par leur union un ensemble géographique
de la plus frappante simplicité.
A l’exception des contrées orientales, peuplées par une nation
d’origine portugaise, et de la zone marécageuse des Guyanes, où se
sont installés quelques milliers de planteurs anglais, français et
hollandais, toute l’Amérique du Sud,—c’est-à-dire les régions
andines et les grandes plaines fluviales,—est habitée par des
hommes de races mélangées formant de leurs élémens épars une
nouvelle race de plus en plus homogène. Les colons des diverses
parties de l’Espagne, qui pendant trois siècles ont été presque les
seuls Européens du continent, se sont partout alliés aux Indiennes,
et de ces croisemens est née une population nouvelle qui tient à la
fois de l’Espagnol par son intelligence, son courage, sa sobriété, et
de l’aborigène par sa force passive, sa ténacité, sa douceur
naturelle. Même dans les pays où les Espagnols se disent purs
d’origine, comme au Chili et sur les plateaux grenadins, un mélange
s’est opéré entre les conquérans et les familles des vaincus, et les
Chiliens peuvent en conséquence se dire aussi bien les fils des
Araucans que ceux des compagnons d’Almagro. Non-seulement les
aborigènes sont ainsi entrés d’une manière indirecte dans la grande
famille des nations latines; mais en outre la plupart des tribus
sauvages se sont peu à peu groupées autour de la population
créole. Elles en ont adopté partiellement les mœurs, et par leur
fraternité d’armes durant la guerre de l’indépendance sont devenues
un seul et même peuple avec leurs oppresseurs d’autrefois. Sur les
côtes, un petit nombre de nègres, issus des anciens esclaves
africains, ont contribué au mélange des races; mais ce troisième
élément n’a qu’une faible importance relative, et le fond des
populations andines reste d’une manière presque exclusive le
produit des deux races espagnole et américaine. A ces nations du
continent du sud, il faut encore ajouter celles de l’Amérique centrale
et du Mexique, également latines et indiennes par leurs ancêtres. De
l’estuaire de la Plata aux bouches du Rio-Bravo et du Colorado, sur
un espace occupant environ 10,000 kilomètres de longueur, vivent
plus de 26 millions d’hommes parlant tous la même langue, se
rattachant tous au sol américain par leurs aïeux indigènes et
participant aux mêmes souvenirs historiques par les traditions de la
mère-patrie et les efforts communs tentés contre les Espagnols
pendant quinze années de luttes.
Malheureusement ces nations, désunies par les guerres
intestines, séparées les unes des autres par de vastes solitudes et
même par des régions inexplorées, ne sont point encore un groupe
de peuples frères: leur unité, si bien indiquée par la nature et par
l’origine, ne s’est point encore réalisée en politique. Toutefois cette
union est l’idéal des Américains qui ont véritablement à cœur la
prospérité de leur patrie, et la masse même du peuple commence à
partager ces vœux de fédération. Déjà de nombreuses tentatives ont
été faites dans ce sens et plusieurs ont partiellement abouti.
Aujourd’hui même une ligue offensive et défensive unit quatre des
plus puissantes républiques de l’Amérique espagnole, ayant
ensemble près de 8 millions d’habitans et de grandes ressources
navales et financières. Que cette ligue soit destinée à devenir le
noyau d’une fédération hispano-américaine ou qu’elle disparaisse
pour faire place à d’autres combinaisons, il est certain que l’union de
plusieurs peuples au nom de la liberté commune aura les
conséquences les plus heureuses pour l’avenir de tous les états du
continent colombien. Afin d’apprécier à sa juste valeur un fait
historique d’une telle importance et de se rendre compte des
changemens d’équilibre qui peuvent en résulter, il importe donc de
connaître les projets d’union qui ont été formés à une époque
antérieure et les commencemens d’exécution qu’ils ont reçus. C’est
là une étude que facilite singulièrement l’ouvrage complet et
accompagné de documens officiels que M. Torres Caicedo a publié
récemment sur cette question.
 I.
Avant même qu’un seul homme d’état eût formulé la théorie de la
ligue américaine, elle était déjà mise temporairement en pratique,
puisque, du plateau de l’Anahuac aux rives de la Plata, les insurgés
combattaient le même ennemi, et que même, en de nombreuses
batailles, les pâtres argentins avaient pour compagnons d’armes les
montagnards du Venezuela et de la Nouvelle-Grenade. La lutte
contre l’adversaire commun avait uni tous les créoles américains
dans une même armée. Pendant quelques années, les hommes qui
s’étaient mis à la tête du mouvement purent croire que les diverses
provinces de l’Amérique du Sud se constitueraient en une vaste
confédération, et que l’ancienne unité, existant au profit du
despotisme espagnol, se rétablirait entre peuples libres au profit de
la grandeur nationale. Ils espéraient que la fraternité d’armes
victorieusement affirmée sur les champs de bataille pourrait être
transformée en une solide union des peuples eux-mêmes. Dès
l’année 1822, au plus fort de la guerre contre l’Espagne, le libérateur
Bolivar invita formellement les gouvernemens du Mexique, du Chili,
du Pérou et de Buenos-Ayres à se grouper en confédération et à
procéder immédiatement à la convocation d’une assemblée ayant
pour mission d’établir une ligue permanente entre les peuples
affranchis. En réponse à cet appel, la Colombie, le Pérou et Buenos-
Ayres se contentèrent de signer une alliance défensive contre toute
attaque de l’Espagne ou d’une autre nation étrangère; mais cette
alliance n’était guère que la simple constatation de la lutte commune
contre la métropole. Aussitôt après la fin des hostilités, Bolivar, alors
dictateur du Pérou, s’empressa de recommander de nouveau aux
républiques latines de l’Amérique l’idée d’un congrès central «réuni
sous les auspices de la victoire.» La plupart des gouvernemens
intéressés répondirent avec cet enthousiasme facile des Hispano-
Américains. Le président de la Colombie alla même jusqu’à dire que
«l’œuvre projetée de l’union était un fait dont l’importance n’avait
point été égalée depuis la chute de l’empire romain;» mais cette
œuvre, personne ne l’accomplit. Les difficultés des communications,
la lassitude causée dans tout le pays par la sanglante guerre qui
venait de finir, la profonde ignorance des populations, le manque
d’intérêts matériels communs entre des pays éloignés de plusieurs
milliers de kilomètres les uns des autres, empêchèrent de donner
suite au projet de Bolivar. Ses invitations devenaient pourtant de
plus en plus pressantes, car la France légitimiste menaçait alors de
reprendre au nom du droit divin la cause que venait d’abandonner
provisoirement l’Espagne. Dans son effroi, le grand homme de
guerre allait même jusqu’à demander que le congrès des
plénipotentiaires américains fût érigé en un comité de salut public
indépendant de ses mandataires, et disposant d’une flotte puissante,
ainsi que d’une armée de 100,000 hommes.
Enfin, vers le milieu de l’année 1826, un simulacre de congrès,
composé seulement des mandataires du Pérou, de la Colombie, de
l’Amérique centrale et du Mexique, se réunit à Panama, que l’on
avait choisi comme le point le plus facile d’accès dans l’immense
étendue des contrées hispano-américaines. Les délégués rédigèrent
à la hâte un traité de ligue fédérative entre les états qu’ils
représentaient et décidèrent la formation d’une armée commune de
60,000 hommes; mais leurs décisions ne furent validées que par la
seule république de Colombie, et cet état même ne fit aucun effort
pour mettre son vote à exécution. Tel fut l’avortement d’un projet
duquel on avait attendu des résultats si grandioses. Bolivar, dont les
espérances s’évanouissaient ainsi, comparait tristement le congrès
de Panama à un pilote fou qui, du rivage de la mer, essaierait de
guider un navire secoué par les tempêtes du large.
Après cette vaine tentative de confédération, les gouvernemens
sud-américains se bornèrent à échanger de temps en temps
quelques notes sur cette question pourtant si vitale, et plus de vingt
ans s’écoulèrent sans qu’une nouvelle assemblée de délégués fût
convoquée. Seulement à la fin de 1847, c’est-à-dire à la veille de
cette époque révolutionnaire si féconde dans les pays d’Europe en
événemens de toute sorte, un deuxième congrès, composé des
plénipotentiaires du Chili, de la Bolivie, du Pérou, de l’Équateur et de
la Nouvelle-Grenade, c’est-à-dire des cinq républiques assises sur
les rivages de la Mer du Sud, se réunit à Lima pour négocier un
traité d’union fédérative. Ce congrès, moins ambitieux et plus sensé
que celui de Panama, ne vota point la formation d’une grande
armée; il s’occupa modestement d’examiner dans quelles
circonstances il serait utile de constituer la ligue des nations sud-
américaines, et de quelle façon on procéderait à cette alliance; en
même temps il prévoyait aussi le cas d’une guerre possible entre les
républiques confédérées, et traçait aux états neutres la ligne de
conduite qu’ils auraient à suivre en cette occurrence. Un traité de
commerce et de navigation, où pour la première fois le principe de la
liberté des fleuves était proclamé, complétait l’œuvre des
plénipotentiaires de Lima. Toutefois les grands événemens et les
luttes intestines qui agitaient alors le Nouveau-Monde effacèrent
promptement le souvenir des travaux du congrès.
Cependant un nouveau danger, venant cette fois, non des
puissances monarchiques de l’Europe occidentale, mais de la
remuante oligarchie esclavagiste des états anglo-américains,
menaça bientôt l’indépendance des républiques espagnoles. Le
flibustier Walker, porte-glaive de cette chevalerie du cycle d’or dont
la grande conspiration contre la liberté des peuples n’est pas encore
assez connue, avait envahi le Nicaragua à la tête de ses bandes;
des sénateurs, des ministres de l’Union américaine, le président lui-
même, proclamaient insolemment la doctrine de la «destinée
manifeste» en vertu de laquelle les républiques méridionales
devaient tôt ou tard, de gré ou de force, devenir la proie de ces
Anglo-Saxons envahissans qui s’étaient déjà fait concéder la moitié
du Mexique. Dans l’espérance des hommes qui dirigeaient alors la
politique des États-Unis, Lopez et Walker n’étaient que l’avant-garde
des armées qui devaient annexer successivement toutes les nations
espagnoles pour les fondre dans le «grand empire indien de
l’occident.» Sous le coup de l’émotion qui saisit la plupart des états
de l’Amérique latine, un nouveau congrès se réunit en 1856 à
Santiago de Chili pour y conclure un traité «continental» de défense
contre l’invasion étrangère. Les seules parties représentées étaient
le Chili, le Pérou et l’Équateur; mais les autres républiques, y
compris le Paraguay, s’empressèrent pour la plupart d’accéder au
traité. Peut-être cette nouvelle convention ne fût-elle pas restée un
vain mot comme les précédentes, si les diverses révolutions
fomentées dans l’Équateur et dans la Nouvelle-Grenade par
quelques prétendans n’avaient malheureusement détourné
l’attention de ces derniers pays vers leurs affaires intérieures.
Cependant l’idée de la ligue américaine ne devait plus être
abandonnée. Désormais elle n’était plus seulement dans les vœux
de quelques patriotes intelligens, elle commençait à passionner le
peuple lui-même dans les républiques les plus avancées. Pendant
les années qui suivirent les négociations relatives au traité
continental, les divers gouvernemens ne cessèrent d’échanger des
notes relatives à cette question, et, ce qui vaut encore mieux, les
journaux et les assemblées politiques de toute l’Amérique du Sud
reprirent et discutèrent de plus en plus sérieusement les projets
d’union fédérative. Dès le mois de janvier 1864, le cabinet péruvien
était poussé par l’opinion publique à proposer un nouveau congrès
américain, et la plupart des états s’empressèrent d’envoyer leur
adhésion.
Le moment était bien choisi, car jamais, depuis la guerre de
l’indépendance, pareil danger n’avait menacé les jeunes républiques
du Nouveau-Monde. Depuis deux années déjà, le Mexique était
envahi par des troupes européennes ayant pour mission non-
seulement de demander la réparation de certains griefs, mais aussi
d’aider à la fondation d’une monarchie. Une forte armée espagnole
ayant pour base d’approvisionnemens l’île si riche de Cuba avait fait
irruption à Saint-Domingue «pour répondre aux vœux des bons
citoyens» de cette ancienne colonie, et, non content de cette tâche,
le gouvernement de Madrid cherchait encore de nouvelles difficultés
avec le Pérou. Enfin, au sud du continent, on commençait à voir la
main du Brésil dans la conspiration de Florès contre la Bande-
Orientale. Un fait des plus graves est que toutes ces agressions
coïncidaient avec la guerre civile des Américains du nord, et que
dans cette lutte les puissances de l’Europe occidentale avaient
singulièrement favorisé les rebelles en se hâtant de leur reconnaître
les droits de belligérans, même en laissant des corsaires s’armer et
se ravitailler dans leurs ports et leurs arsenaux. Les États-Unis
s’étant depuis longtemps posés comme les adversaires à outrance
de toute intervention des gouvernemens d’Europe dans les affaires
intérieures de l’Amérique, on voyait en eux les gardiens jaloux de
l’indépendance des républiques sœurs, et c’est précisément
l’époque où l’Union était engagée elle-même dans une terrible lutte
que choisissaient les puissances européennes et le Brésil pour
attaquer sur plusieurs points à la fois les Hispano-Américains.
N’était-il pas naturel de croire, à la vue de ces événemens, qu’ils
faisaient partie d’un grand projet de restauration monarchique dirigé
contre toutes les républiques du Nouveau-Monde? Les diverses
interventions qui ont eu lieu dans les états de l’Amérique espagnole
peuvent être en partie des faits sans rapport direct avec la grande
rébellion des planteurs; mais ils s’y rattachent historiquement, et l’on
ne saurait douter que la postérité les embrasse d’un même regard.
Qu’une entente préalable ait eu lieu entre les divers gouvernemens
qui sont intervenus dans les affaires des républiques américaines,
ou, ce qui est possible, que chacun ait suivi d’instinct sa politique
particulière, il n’en est pas moins vrai que l’Espagne, la France,
l’empire du Brésil, et dans une faible mesure l’Angleterre elle-même,
ont saisi l’occasion favorable de la guerre civile des Américains du
nord pour chercher à procurer aux républiques du Nouveau-Monde
soit «les bienfaits des institutions monarchiques,» soit plus
modestement «la paix, l’ordre et la prospérité.» L’histoire future ne
verra point dans ces faits une coïncidence fortuite.
Quant aux populations directement intéressées, elles y virent
l’effet d’un plan concerté d’avance. On sait quelle profonde irritation
l’attitude des puissances européennes a causée aux États-Unis. On
sait que, depuis le rétablissement de l’Union, les diplomates de
Washington ne négligent aucune occasion de faire parade des
ressources de leur nation en s’adressant aux cabinets de l’Europe
occidentale: c’est avec un plaisir malin assez peu déguisé qu’ils
voient les embarras de la France dans les affaires mexicaines et les
terreurs de leurs voisins du Canada menacés par les invasions des
fenians. Sans aucun doute les grandes et déplorables
démonstrations d’amitié qu’ils font à l’empire russe doivent être aussi
attribuées pour une forte part au désir qu’ils ont de chagriner les
gouvernemens d’Europe dont ils croient avoir à se plaindre.
Toutefois les alarmes de la nation anglo-américaine n’avaient été
que peu de chose, comparées à l’émoi des populations du continent
colombien. Celles-ci, s’exagérant le danger à cause de leur faiblesse
relative, croyaient déjà que les pays libres de l’Amérique espagnole
étaient divisés d’avance en trois ou quatre grands empires, dont l’un,
s’étendant de l’isthme de Panama aux frontières de la Californie,
avait pour souverain choisi l’empereur Maximilien. Quant au sort
réservé au reste de l’Amérique espagnole, les idées différaient à cet
égard; on ne doutait pas néanmoins que plusieurs républiques ne
fussent désignées comme devant faire retour à l’Espagne, leur
ancienne métropole, ni que le Brésil ne tentât d’obtenir pour son
immense territoire la frontière du Parana. On savait aussi que le parti
conservateur de Quito avait ouvertement invoqué le protectorat de la
France, et l’on se demandait avec appréhension si ces vœux de
suicide national n’avaient pas été favorablement accueillis aux
Tuileries. Ainsi, disait-on, si les projets des puissances
monarchiques devaient se réaliser, il ne resterait plus dans le
Nouveau-Monde que la république des Yankees, et celle-ci, réduite
à la défensive par les esclavagistes vainqueurs, en viendrait peut-
être à se scinder elle-même en plusieurs états et à modifier son
gouvernement. Les principes républicains ayant alors perdu le solide
point d’appui que leur donnent les jeunes sociétés américaines, le
maintien des institutions monarchiques dans le monde entier eût été
dès lors à jamais assuré. Ce plan, que les assemblées politiques et
les journaux discutaient avec la plus grande sincérité, comme s’il eût
été vraiment combiné de toutes pièces, n’existait sans doute avec
cette netteté que dans les imaginations; mais il ne faut pas moins en
tenir compte, car, sous les événemens qui se pressent, l’instinct
populaire devine souvent mieux que les hommes d’état eux-mêmes
le mobile secret qui les a fait agir, et révèle ainsi le vrai sens de
l’histoire.
Lorsque le congrès américain se réunit à Lima le 14 novembre
1864, l’orage attendu venait d’éclater sur le Pérou. Un commissaire
de la reine d’Espagne, prenant le même titre que les anciens
gouverneurs castillans des colonies d’Amérique, avait déjà, au
mépris de la souveraineté péruvienne, exigé réparation de griefs
d’une valeur fort douteuse, et sans daigner déclarer la guerre, par
simple mesure de «revendication,» l’amiral Pinzon s’était emparé
des îles à guano, qui sont le véritable trésor de la république.
Cependant le général Pezet, personnage timoré qui redoutait surtout
de déplaire aux représentans des puissances européennes, ne
semblait point avoir ressenti l’outrage fait à la nation; il traitait
secrètement avec le commissaire espagnol, et la chambre elle-
même reculait devant une déclaration de guerre. Lorsque, poussés à
bout par les exigences de l’Espagne, les députés se furent enfin
décidés, et qu’à la presque unanimité ils eurent résolu d’opposer la
force à la force, le congrès américain, où se trouvaient représentées
toutes les républiques intéressées, à l’exception de celles de la Plata
et du Mexique, n’eut pas le courage de participer par son attitude à
la résolution des Péruviens; il intervint auprès du gouvernement de
Lima pour lui conseiller la prudence, lui fit rapporter la déclaration de
guerre, et tenta par des offres directes, mais inutiles, de servir de
médiateur entre le Pérou et l’amiral espagnol. Ainsi que les
événemens l’ont prouvé plus tard, cette prudence apparente n’était
que pusillanimité: si le Pérou avait osé maintenir sa déclaration
d’hostilités au risque de voir son commerce interrompu et de perdre
sa flottille, le président n’aurait point eu l’humiliation de signer un
indigne traité, et la guerre civile eût été évitée. Le congrès ne pouvait
donc se vanter d’avoir sauvegardé l’honneur du pays, et ses travaux
devaient par conséquent rester frappés de stérilité; cependant c’est
déjà une chose des plus importantes et sans précédent qu’une
assemblée composée des plénipotentiaires de la plupart des
républiques ait pris une part directe au gouvernement de l’une
d’entre elles et tenté de représenter en face de l’étranger l’union des
peuples du continent. Dès l’année suivante, les péripéties de la
guerre avec l’Espagne cimentaient une plus intime union, à la fois
offensive et défensive. Quatre des principaux états de l’Amérique du
Sud, le Chili, la Bolivie, le Pérou, l’Équateur, réalisaient enfin ce que
les congrès avaient jadis vainement discuté.
 II.
Désormais, on peut le dire sans témérité, les républiques de
l’Amérique du Sud peuvent être considérées comme à l’abri de toute
attaque sérieuse d’une puissance européenne. Non-seulement les
États-Unis, sortis de la guerre plus redoutables qu’autrefois, se
croiraient peut-être tenus d’intervenir par leur diplomatie ou par leurs
armes, si quelque atteinte trop grave était portée à l’autonomie des
populations hispano-américaines, mais encore celles-ci ont déjà
prouvé qu’elles sont capables de se défendre elles-mêmes. La petite
république dominicaine, qui compte à peine 200,000 habitans de
race mêlée et ne saurait par conséquent mettre sur pied qu’une
armée numériquement très faible, a forcé la fière Espagne, après
vingt mois de lutte, à la dégager du serment de loyauté qu’elle était
censée, suivant les rapports officiels, avoir prêté avec tant
d’enthousiasme. Le Chili, grâce à son éloignement des possessions
espagnoles, grâce surtout au patriotisme et à l’intelligence de ses
habitans, est sorti presque sans dommage de la guerre que lui avait
déclarée son ancienne métropole; avec ses petits vaisseaux portant
quelques centaines de matelots, il a vaillamment bravé la puissante
flotte de son adversaire, et n’a laissé d’autre ressource à l’amiral
Nuñez que de bombarder la ville sans défense de Valparaiso.
Bientôt après les Péruviens, comprenant, par l’exemple de ce qui
venait de se passer à Valparaiso, qu’il vaut mieux compter sur son
propre courage que sur la générosité de l’ennemi, repoussaient la
force par la force, et les canons de Callao vengeaient la barbarie
inutile commise précédemment par les ordres du ministère
espagnol. La flotte avariée de l’amiral Nuñez dut battre en retraite
vers les Philippines et Rio de Janeiro, et donner ainsi aux
républiques alliées un répit qu’elles mettront certainement à profit. Si
la guerre a pris temporairement un caractère platonique par suite de
la retraite des vaisseaux espagnols, le Chili, le Pérou, la Bolivie et
l’Équateur n’en continuent pas moins d’armer leurs côtes, d’agrandir
leur flotte, devenue déjà fort respectable, et de faire appel contre
l’ennemi commun à l’aide des autres nations américaines. Leur
puissance s’accroît incessamment pour l’offensive, et les bruits
souvent répétés de soulèvemens ou d’invasions à Cuba et à Porto-
Rico sont un signe avant-coureur de ce que la politique imprudente
de l’Espagne pourra lui coûter un jour.
Quant au Mexique, il est toujours en partie occupé par des
troupes européennes, et sa capitale est le siége d’un empire dont les
frontières indécises changent de jour en jour suivant les diverses
alternatives de combats incessans. Toutefois il est désormais permis
de prédire, sans un grand effort d’imagination, qu’un nouveau
changement politique va s’accomplir à Mexico, et qu’un
gouvernement conforme aux traditions du pays succédera au règne
éphémère de Maximilien. Le prochain départ des troupes françaises,
la désorganisation des finances impériales et l’empressement avec
lequel on proclame la déchéance du nouveau souverain dans
chaque ville et chaque bourgade abandonnée par ses soldats font
de la restauration prochaine de la république mexicaine un
événement facile à prévoir. Alors la doctrine dite de Monroe, à
laquelle les nations américaines ont graduellement donné une
signification de plus en plus large, sera sérieusement respectée par
les puissances monarchiques de l’Europe; toute intervention efficace
de l’Espagne, de la France ou de l’Angleterre deviendra impossible,
et par conséquent l’une des principales causes qui arrêtaient les
jeunes états de l’Amérique dans leur essor aura disparu. En grande
partie maîtres de leur destinée, c’est principalement à eux-mêmes
qu’ils devront s’en prendre de leurs guerres et de leurs révolutions
futures.
Néanmoins, si les anciennes colonies espagnoles n’ont plus à
craindre de retomber sous la domination d’un peuple d’Europe,
quelques-unes d’entre elles ont à redouter les envahissemens d’une
puissance occupant comme elles une partie du territoire américain.
Le Brésil, groupe de plateaux que le Parana et les affluens de
l’Amazone séparent de la base orientale des Andes, constitue un
territoire distinct du reste du continent, et les populations qui se sont
établies sur ces plateaux diffèrent par l’origine, la langue, les
institutions, les mœurs, de celles des autres parties de l’Amérique.
Le contraste qui existe entre le Brésil et les régions andines est
également frappant sous le double rapport de la géographie et de
l’ethnologie. D’un côté, les Hispano-Indiens occupent les vallées
d’une haute chaîne de montagnes; de l’autre, les fils des Portugais
et des noirs d’Afrique peuplent un massif isolé qu’entourent les mers
et d’immenses plaines de marécages et de forêts; à l’ouest des
nations affranchies, à l’est un mélange d’habitans dont le tiers se
compose de misérables esclaves sans patrie et sans droit. Le
contraste offert par les deux groupes de populations qui se partagent
l’Amérique du Sud est donc complet, et malheureusement, dans
l’état de barbarie qui est encore à tant d’égards celui de la race
humaine, cette opposition ne peut que donner lieu à de sanglantes
guerres. La lutte qui pendant tant de siècles avait divisé les deux
peuples de la péninsule ibérique, Espagnols et Portugais, s’est
continuée de l’autre côté des mers et sur un territoire bien plus vaste
que la petite presqu’île européenne.
Au nord et à l’ouest des anciennes colonies portugaises,
l’immensité des espaces solitaires qui les séparent des contrées
habitées par les descendans des Espagnols a jusqu’à nos jours
empêché tout conflit sérieux. Seulement le Brésil a pu, grâce à
l’unité de vues et à la persévérance de ses diplomates, triompher
provisoirement dans toutes les questions de limites de la résistance
des gouvernemens éphémères qui se succédaient dans les
républiques limitrophes, et de cette manière il s’est adjugé sans
coup férir d’immenses étendues inexplorées, dont les seuls habitans
sont des Indiens sauvages. Sur la carte, le Brésil s’est ainsi agrandi
aux dépens de la Bolivie, du Pérou, de l’Équateur, de la Nouvelle-
Grenade et du Venezuela d’une surface de plusieurs centaines de
millions d’hectares; mais la force réelle de l’empire ne s’est en rien
accrue de cette énorme adjonction apparente de territoire. Dans le
conflit des deux races, la prépondérance restera nécessairement à
ceux chez lesquels la liberté humaine est le plus respectée.
Du côté du sud et du sud-ouest, où non-seulement les domaines
contestés confinent les uns aux autres, mais où les populations
elles-mêmes sont assez rapprochées pour se faire la guerre, la lutte
a été presque constante pendant trois siècles. Les colons de race
ennemie étaient dès le berceau voués à se combattre, et les traités
d’alliance conclus en Europe entre les deux métropoles
n’empêchaient point les mamelucos de São-Paulo de continuer leur
chasse à l’homme dans les Missions espagnoles. Dans le siècle
actuel, cette lutte de races s’est graduellement régularisée, mais elle
n’en continue pas moins sous des formes différentes, et l’enjeu de la
lutte a toujours été la possession des grands fleuves de l’intérieur et
du port de Montevideo. Tantôt vainqueurs, tantôt vaincus, les
Portugais et leurs héritiers les Brésiliens avaient tour à tour conquis
et perdu la souveraineté de l’une des rives de la Plata. Ils viennent
enfin d’atteindre partiellement leur but en installant à Montevideo
comme président de la Bande-Orientale le général Florès,
commandant un de leurs corps d’armée. Ils ont fait plus encore, car
ils ont réussi à tourner les forces d’une république contre une autre
république, ils ont eu l’art de prendre pour avant-garde de leurs
troupes d’invasion les soldats de Buenos-Ayres, et par cette habile
combinaison ils ont fait partager la responsabilité et le poids de la
lutte à leurs ennemis héréditaires. Ils espèrent ainsi s’emparer, à titre
d’amis, de cette frontière naturelle du Parana, qu’il leur serait plus
malaisé de conquérir en ennemis.
Aux débuts de la guerre du Paraguay, c’est-à-dire en mai 1865,
les alliés étaient superbes d’espoir et de jactance: c’est au pas de
course, c’est au galop de leurs chevaux, que les soldats de Mitre, de
Florès et d’Osorio devaient s’élancer à la conquête des pays
convoités. Lorsque après avoir pendant des années travaillé
sourdement contre l’indépendance de Montevideo, rivale de Buenos-
Ayres, le président Mitre fut enfin obligé par le Paraguay de jeter le
masque et de se ranger ouvertement du côté des Brésiliens, on eût
dit qu’il prenait la foudre en main, tant on s’empressait autour de lui
à célébrer son prochain triomphe. «Nous venons de décréter la
victoire,» s’écria-t-il en déposant la plume qui venait de signer le
traité d’alliance avec le Brésil. «Dans les casernes aujourd’hui,
demain en campagne, dans trois mois à l’Assomption!» telle était la
fière parole que les admirateurs du général Mitre avaient entendue
tomber de sa bouche. Depuis ce jour, où le succès semblait si facile
à obtenir, plus de seize mois se sont écoulés, pendant lesquels bien
des combats ont été livrés et bien des milliers de vies sacrifiées
inutilement. Les dates que de temps en temps on se permet de fixer
d’avance pour la prise de l’Assomption doivent être de plus en plus
espacées à cause de difficultés imprévues. Le général Urquiza, qui
devait, à la tête de ses cavaliers, frayer la voie aux armées du Brésil
et de Buenos-Ayres, s’est bientôt retiré prudemment à l’arrière-
garde, puis est revenu dans sa riche estancia pour se faire le grand
fournisseur de vivres des alliés et leur vendre à lourds deniers le
bétail et les céréales. Non-seulement l’Assomption n’est pas tombée
dans les trois mois aux mains des alliés, mais, bien que de
nombreuses dépêches aient souvent annoncé la destruction
complète des forces paraguayennes, ni le général Mitre ni l’amiral
Tamandaré n’ont encore pu tourner un seul de leurs canons contre
les murs de la forteresse d’Humayta, qui défend l’entrée de la
république. L’unique conquête des alliés est celle de l’Estero-
Bellaco, savane humide pendant la saison des pluies, poudreuse
pendant les sécheresses, mais entourée en toute saison de
marécages d’où sort la fièvre, bien plus terrible que les boulets.
Jusqu’à présent, le président Mitre, même accompagné de 30,000
Brésiliens, semble devoir être encore moins heureux que le général
Belgrano dont il s’est fait l’historiographe, car ce héros, qui tenta
vainement de conquérir le Paraguay pour le soumettre à la couronne
de Ferdinand VII, alla du moins se faire battre aux portes de
l’Assomption.
Ce n’est pas que dans leur défense les chefs de l’armée
paraguayenne aient toujours été d’habiles stratégistes[1]. Au
contraire, ils ont commis des fautes graves; mais ces fautes,
provenant surtout de l’inexpérience militaire, ont été depuis
glorieusement réparées. Les Paraguayens se sont lentement retirés
de la province de Corrientes qu’ils avaient envahie, mais en se
retirant ils ne cessaient de harceler l’ennemi, de battre en détail ses
avant-gardes, de lui prendre ses convois de vivres. Ces hommes,
que l’on représentait d’abord comme un ramassis de fuyards, ont eu
presque toujours le privilége de l’offensive; les commandans de