Midnight Rider (30 page)

They were traveling horseback. Ramon had suggested the carriage, but his wife had surprised him by refusing.

“I'm riding better with each of my lessons,” she said. “And it would be faster if we traveled cross-country. You said there was a shortcut through the hills—we could take it if we didn't have to stay on the road.” She smiled at him prettily. “Besides, I need the practice.”

His hand came up to her cheek. “Aye,
querida,
when you smile that way, how could any man refuse?” It was only a two-day journey, and he was proud that she wanted her horsemanship skills to improve.

She had surprised him again when she joined him that morning perched atop his aunt's heavy old sidesaddle. At least the skirt of the saddle was no longer stiff and curling. Someone had lovingly worked it over, softening the leather, rubbing it to a glossy sheen, and cleaning the silver fittings. He had a strong suspicion his wife was the one who had taken such care.

“You are sure about this, Cara?”

“I started using a woman's saddle when I got back to del Robles. I wanted to learn to ride like a lady.”

“But the saddle is too big for you. You are sure you will be able to manage?”

“I can do it, Ramon. I learned on a saddle this size.”

He smiled. “All right then, the sun begins to climb. It is time we are off on our journey.”

She looked so lovely in her sapphire blue velvet riding habit, her fiery hair curled in ringlets that nestled against her shoulders. It made his blood begin to thicken, made him hungry to take her again, though they had just made love that morning.

Ramon bit back a silent groan of frustration. The woman set a torch to his blood every time he looked at her. He had hoped his need for her would lessen. Instead it seemed to strengthen with each passing day.
Madre de Dios,
it wasn't like him. He wished he knew what to do.

“You are certain you have brought enough clothes?” Only one satchel was draped across the back of the mule they had packed with their bedrolls and supplies.

The journey was meant to be a pleasant one so Ramon had indulged himself. Their saddle bags held food for the trail: apples from the orchard,
pinole, carne seca
—dried beef jerky—tortillas, coffee, and Yerba Buena tea. The mule was packed with freshly roasted chicken for the evening meal, bean pies, cheese, and sweetbreads. The animal even carried a thin feather mattress for the nights they would spend sleeping on the ground.

“The satchel holds more than you think,” Carly told him, her eyes a light emerald green and sparkling with excitement. “You said to bring something pretty, so I did. The dresses will be fine once they're aired out and pressed.”

He could only imagine the assortment of clothes Isabel Montoya would have had to bring along. It would have taken three mules just to carry them. Then again, there would have been no use for a mule. Isabel would have insisted on traveling in the carriage.

Both his mother and Tia Teresa came out to see them off. Two Hawks was working in the barn with Mariano, where he went every evening as soon as his tasks were done.

“Have a safe journey, my son,” his mother said. She turned to smile at Carly. “You, also … my daughter.”

A film of moisture darkened the green of his wife's pretty eyes. She was smiling at his mother with such affection that something softened inside him. He had hoped his mother and aunt would accept her. He had never imagined they would come to love her as he did.

Ramon's gloved hand went taut on the reins, making Rey del Sol start to prance and toss his head. He couldn't have said that, not even in his mind. He couldn't allow himself even to think it.

He knew the danger.
Por Dios,
he knew exactly the way it felt to have a woman trample on his heart.

“Vaya con Dios,”
his aunt called after them. Go with God, she said. “Enjoy yourselves—and Ramon, be sure to give our best to your cousins.” A letter had come. Maria de la Guerra would be visiting Monterey with her daughter.

“I will convince them to come for a visit,” he said.

“Take care of yourselves,” Carly called out to them.

Ramon waved a final good-bye and lightly touched his spurs to his horse's ribs. Carly rode up beside him, perched atop a well-schooled, little white mare.

“They're very dear,” she said, glancing back toward the two figures fading into the distance, raising her hand to wave one last time. “I've come to care for them very much.”

Ramon said nothing. He was still grappling with the notion that he was falling in love with Caralee McConnell. He could stop it from happening, he assured himself. He could distance himself from her soft looks and gentle smiles, keep himself aloof from her laughter and the passion they shared in bed.

He admired her, yes. He appreciated a woman with courage, one who wasn't afraid to stand up for herself, or to him. Respect was a good thing in a marriage. That and friendship, along with a good dose of lust, was all he needed.

He would keep it at that, he assured himself. He wouldn't let her get any closer to him than she was already,

Then he glanced across at her, saw her bright, excited smile as she pointed at a beautiful goshawk soaring among the clouds above them. Smiling in return, he felt his heart expanding inside him and knew he was already in far deeper than he had wished.

*   *   *

Sheriff Jeremy Layton rode his tall bay gelding up in front of the de la Guerra hacienda but didn't get down from his horse. It was the custom among the rancheros not to dismount unless you were invited. He hadn't been, and at this point, Jeremy had no reason to behave inhospitably toward Ramon de la Guerra or anyone in his family, who were, after all, highly respected members of the community.

Still … Fletcher Austin had begun to have suspicions the don might be involved with El Dragón. Austin was a lot of things: hard-nosed, ruthless, even a little bit greedy.

But no one ever said he was a fool.

A stout, dark-skinned man walked toward him, mid-thirties, thick-chested with a bushy handlebar mustache.

“
Buenas tardes,
Senor Sheriff. You are looking for Don Ramon?”

His name was Mariano, Jeremy recalled. One of the don's top vaqueros. “I thought I might have a word with him. He around?”

“No, senor. The don is not here.”

“Then perhaps I could speak to his wife.”

“Again, I am sorry. If you would like to speak to the senora … or perhaps to Don Ramon's aunt…”

“Would you mind telling me where the don and his bride have gone?”

He hesitated only a moment, then he grinned. “A wedding trip, senor. A young bride is often shy, no? There are things the don may wish to teach her … things that are best learned away from the knowing looks of family and friends.”

Or perhaps the don had already taught her those things in the mountains, as Fletcher Austin believed. “Be sure to give them my congratulations,” Jeremy said. “Tell them I'll be dropping by to see them again very soon.”

“
Si,
I will tell them, Sheriff Layton.”

He scanned the house and grounds, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Mind if I water my horse before I go?”

“No, no, of course not. It was rude of me not to suggest it. Perhaps I can get you something as well … coffee or chocolate … or maybe something to eat?”

“No thanks. Just the water for my horse.”

Mariano nodded and led the way to a moss-covered watering trough. Jeremy let the horse drink deeply, sucking the cool water into his muzzle, then backed him away and settled more deeply into the saddle. As he touched the brim of his hat in farewell, he caught the shimmer of curtains moving inside the house, but no one came to the door. Not very friendly.

Then again, with the don away the two old women might have second thoughts about talking to a man they didn't know.

At the top of the rise, he paused to look back down on the hacienda. The stout vaquero spoke to a dark-skinned Indian boy, then boosted him up on the saddle of a slightly swaybacked horse. A little spotted dog yapped at the animal's feet but it didn't seem disturbed. Around the pair, work continued, several men repairing a downed length of fence, while two other vaqueros sat in the shade, braiding long thin leather
reatas.
Nothing suspicious here.

Still, he would like to talk once more to the girl. And also to Don Ramon. On Sunday, some of the men would be attending mass at the mission. He could speak to some of them then.

At least El Dragón had not been raiding.

Perhaps the man who supplied him with information had been too busy making love to his fiery new bride.

*   *   *

Pueblo Monterey, once the capital of Alta California, seemed very little changed from what it must have been in the early days of Spanish rule. A sleepy little village, it nestled on a gentle, pine-covered slope overlooking the bay. An American flag floated above the fort on the bluff, and on the government buildings in town, and a neat yellow stone building served as town hall. Off to one side, Carly noticed a cluster of houses, sturdily built, some of adobe, others of wood; and in the bright blue waters of the bay, a dozen vessels bobbed at anchor.

“It's beautiful, Ramon.”

“
Si,
Cara. The Presidio has always been a beautiful little town.” But he frowned as he leaned forward, resting an elbow on his wide, flat saddle horn to stare down at the scene below. “It has changed since the Anglos have come. There are many more cantinas. And there is much more gambling. The men play billiards from morning to night; they gamble at cards and monte. The places do not close, not even on Sunday.”

He smiled, but it looked a little bit forced. “Ah, but there is also now a decent hotel. Come, I will show you. The day grows late and I am sure you will be glad for the chance to rest.”

True, but she wasn't really that tired and surprisingly she wasn't even sore. And the ride from Las Almas with Ramon had been a joy she would never forget.

He helped her down from her mare and they checked into the Cypress Hotel, a lovely old tile-roofed adobe that overlooked the bay. It was once a residence of the governor, Ramon said. Lately, the place had been purchased by a group of Americans, who'd had it painted and put in good repair. The
sala,
now the lobby, stood two stories high, with stained glass windows, massive wooden beams, and a fireplace at one end large enough for a man to walk into.

Their room was small but well furnished, with a sturdy oak bed, pale blue counterpane, and white lace curtains at the windows. A balcony overlooked the blue Pacific Ocean.

“It's wonderful, Ramon,” Carly said as her husband closed the heavy wooden door.

“It is not so grand as I would like, but it is comfortable.” A corner of his sensuous mouth curved up. “Perhaps after supper, we will see if the bed is as comfortable as the rest of the room.” Eyes tinged with gold ran over her, pausing at the curve of her breast. He reached for her, slid an arm around her waist, and pulled her against him. “Or perhaps we should find out now.”

He kissed her deeply, a long, searing kiss that made her dizzy and had her gripping his shoulders. She felt him grow hard against her, thought of that hardness inside her, and vaguely considered missing the meal altogether.

Instead Ramon pulled away. “Aye,
querida,
you make a man lose his head. There will be plenty of time for making love later. In the meantime, I have ordered a bath sent up. There is something I must see to, then I will visit the bath house for a haircut and a shave. We will dine when I return.”

“All right,” she agreed, still a little breathless. He gave her a last hard kiss, gathered a change of clothes, and left her.

By the time he returned, she was dressed in a low-cut mauve silk gown an Indian serving woman had pressed for her, while Ramon wore snug gray
calzonevas
piped in black that clung to his long hard thighs then flared out over his boots. A matching charro jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, covering his ruffled white silk shirt.

“Where are we going to eat?” Carly asked as he propelled her toward the door.

“My cousin Maria is in town from Santa Barbara. She wished us to join her and her daughter, Carlotta, and several other guests at the home of Ricardo Micheltorena, where she is staying during her visit.” He smiled at her wickedly. “Unfortunately, I told them we would have to decline their generous invitation … at least for tonight. This night I would have you to myself.”

A little shimmer of pleasure ran through her. “I'd really like to meet them, but I can't say I'm sorry it won't be tonight.”

“You will have a chance later on.”

They ate in the hotel dining room, a simple fare: an
asada
of chicken and red peppers, cucumbers, corn, and a
guisado
of beef and potatoes. Yet all of it was cooked to perfection.

They spoke of their trip from Las Almas and Carly told him how much she had enjoyed the journey through the rolling California hills. They spoke of Two Hawks and how excited he was to be learning the skills of a vaquero.

“The life he's led must have been a hard one,” Carly said with a hint of sadness. “Until he came to Las Almas, I don't think he ever had quite enough to eat.”

“In the early days game was plentiful. The Indians never had to worry. Now, with so many miners still working the hills, the meat hunters have come. They kill whatever game crosses their path, though much of it is wasted. And many of the younger braves have left the villages to find work. The older people, the women and children are left to fend for themselves.”

Carly nodded gravely. Then she thought of the boy and the missing blackberry pie, and found herself smiling again. “I think Two Hawks stole one of Tia's pies. Knowing how he is about food, I didn't have the heart to confront him.”