Paloma and the Horse Traders (43 page)

“
You will obey him in all matters
upon pain of my serious displeasure,” Marco told the assembled
soldiers. He had no idea how much serious displeasure he was
capable of, when all he wanted to do was go home, bathe, and throw
himself face down on his bed.

He left David Benedict with Joaquim. “I
wouldn’t trust him for a minute,” Marco whispered. “Tell him this
fable that Toshua checks the jail periodically. That should remind
him not to run away, although where he would go, I could not tell
you.”

Joaquim translated and David shuddered. He
spoke, and Marco could tell it sounded like a question. “He wants
to know if you are taking him to Santa Fe to face the governor and
prison,” Joaquim said.

“
Tell him prison can wait,” Marco
said, knowing that even an enemy agent, English or American, could
change, especially now that he understood what New Mexicans were
capable of. A man with David Benedict’s talents didn’t need to
languish in prison. Marco had no doubt that the English in Canada
or the Americans in St. Louis would try again to create mischief.
They could just try it somewhere else.

“
Tell David I want him on the Double
Cross later this winter. Paloma and I need to learn
English.”

Joaquim translated and David nodded. “
Muy
bueno
,” David said.

“
Bien
,” Marco corrected. They
would
all
be busy this winter, apparently.

On Marco’s request, Joaquim’s first order was
to send a
soldado
on a fast horse to the Double Cross to let
his dear ones know that all was well and he was on his way. Lorenzo
had insisted on keeping the wagon that now represented the last
remnant of the ragged southern end of an enterprise to stir up
trouble among the Indians. It was slow and creaky and about to
disintegrate, but Lorenzo was a hero, after all.

So it was that Marco and Lorenzo and Claudio
and his newly acquired family traveled together the last miles
home. Feeling uncomfortably like a father counseling his son, Marco
rode in the wagon with Lorenzo for a few miles, interrogating the
older man about his intentions for Sancha Villareal.

“
I … I thought maybe I’d see if
she might go walking with me by the
acequia
,” Lorenzo
stammered, his face flaming red.

“
At that rate, you’ll be too old to
impress her on your wedding night,” Marco snapped, exasperated.
“Marry her soon, but only if you promise me and Paloma that you
will become a respectable husband, bathe once a week, and treat her
well. No more wenching and horse stealing.”

Lorenzo opened and closed his mouth and said
nothing. Marco took that as an excellent sign. “I have need of a
herdsman, Lorenzo,” he continued. Life among two-year-olds had
taught him to temper demands with sweets. “I pay well. I know you
are good with livestock, but they better damn well be
my
horses and cattle, and no one else’s! Yes or no?”

“
Sheep, too?” Lorenzo
asked.

Marco slapped the side of the horse trader’s
head and started to laugh. “Sheep, too, you … you
pendejo
! And chickens, ducks, and turkeys. Goats. Are we
perfectly clear?”

“
We are, señor.”

“
Good!”

He stepped from the wagon seat onto Buciro, who
had been matching his stride to the wagon team’s. Marco watched the
team, thinking of the miles the horses had churned up during their
long journey on the edge of the frontier. “Lorenzo, I believe this
team that has come all the way from the Missouri River is as
smooth-walking as the stolen horses you foisted on me.”

Lorenzo looked them over with the eye of a
professional. “They’re not as handsome, so no one will probably
steal them from you.”

“
You should know, since you’re the
best horse thief around. Remember that Sancha won’t love you if you
misbehave. I will claim them as contraband of war.”

He rode beside Claudio and Graciela next.
Cecilia sat in front of Claudio now, her eyes earnest as she
grasped the high pommel.

“
I believe she thinks she is in
control of your horse,” Marco whispered to his
brother-in-law.

“
I’ll let her believe
that.”

He edged his horse between Claudio and Graciela
and reached inside his doublet. “Here you are, Graciela.” He leaned
over and set the money pouch in her lap.

“
This is not mine,” she
said.

“
It is if I give it to you,” he
replied. “You are free. I hope you will marry Claudio because he
needs a good wife.”

“
Even a wife who is a little worse
for wear?” Graciela asked. “Some men wouldn’t consider me a
prize.”

“
No one around here. Ask Paloma: we
already see you as we hope someday you will see
yourself.”

He looked away, the better to give her time to
collect herself. If she had any questions, Paloma probably had
answers.

Thank God for Claudio
. “Graciela
Tafoya,” Claudio said, “I have a beating heart.”

Marco had no idea what they were talking about.
Obviously it wasn’t his business. When he fell behind, their horses
came together. Claudio leaned over and kissed Graciela.

“
That is a good start,” Marco
said.

Claudio, man of doubts, wasn’t quite done.
“Marco, do you really have room for us in the hacienda? It’s
starting to fill up. Provided I get that land grant, I still have
to build a house.”

“
We
have to build a house,”
Marco corrected. He smiled at Claudio, a man with as many faults
and failings as himself who was about to be greatly improved by a
wife. “Until then, we’ll add another bed to the children’s room,
and you and Graciela can have your old room. When the new baby
comes, I might have to reclaim my office by the horse
barn.”

“
Are we a bother?”

“
You are a blessing.”

They arrived at the open gates of the Double
Cross as the sun was setting. Paloma stood there, a child holding
each hand. Her smile lit the evening lamps.

“
O God, I am blessed above all men
in New Mexico,” Marco whispered.

A mere month ago, he would have raced ahead to
be first. Now he sat on his horse and ushered Lorenzo and his team
through. He sat there, an idiot grin on his face, as Sancha
Villareal, his dignified and proper housekeeper, ran to the wagon,
put her foot on the wheel and pulled herself up next to the horse
thief, trader, and general bad man. She murmured something not
intended for any ears but Lorenzo’s and kissed him
soundly.

“
Another good start,” Marco said. He
gestured Graciela and Claudio through next, smiling even wider as
his brother-in-law handed a sleeping child down to Paloma. She
kissed Cecilia, then handed her to Graciela, who stood beside her
now.

Again more words passed that Marco could not
quite hear. He watched a brother and sister hold each other close,
then laugh, and add Graciela and her half-Comanche child to their
embrace. Close together, Claudio Vega and Graciela Tafoya followed
Lorenzo and Sancha through the gates.

Finally it was his turn. Marco dismounted and
grabbed Paloma in such a fierce hold that she squeaked in protest
and reminded him that the Mondragón he couldn’t see yet wasn’t used
to bear hugs.

That didn’t explain why she held him so close
to her body, but he already knew that logic escaped her when they
embraced, as when they did other things. And here was Soledad, joy
of his heart, demanding to know why he had no eyebrows. He kneeled
down to hug her, which meant Claudito climbed onto his back and
rested his head against Marco’s neck with a huge sigh of
welcome.

He was home.

T
ired, so tired. Still, after
supper Marco had children to cuddle, talking all the while with
Paloma. As he held his little ones, she just sat beside him and
watched, sizing him up for weight loss, or injury, or some other
sign of his ordeal. He wanted to tell her there would be
nightmares, but she would know soon enough, and be there.

Marco knew his intelligent wife saw something
in his eyes, because her hand went to his thigh and she moved
closer to him. In another moment, she leaned against his arm, her
eyes closed, which made him speculate how difficult it must be to
stay home and wait.

“
I love you, Paloma,” he
whispered.

“
And I, you,” she said. “I do not
like myself when I worry.”

What could he say to that? He kissed her and
felt her sigh.

Paloma still had the power to amaze him. When
the children were in bed, she took him by the hand and walked him
to the
sala
. Touched beyond words, he stood in the doorway
as she took down her brand from its place next to his on the
wall.

Marco followed her down the hall as she went to
Claudio’s closed door and knocked. “Paloma, you are magnificent,”
he said.

Bless her, she was also practical. “This is the
right time,” she assured him. “A few weeks ago, no. Now,
yes.”

Claudio opened the door.His eyes fell on the
Star in the Meadow brand, too long unused, and he
swallowed.

Paloma held out the heavy brand with both
hands. “Marco tells me you will be going with him to Santa Fe soon
to see about the Castellano land grant. Here. What better brand
than this one?”

Claudio took it from her. “It’s not Vega land,”
he began, but she put her fingers to his lips.

“
Al contrario
,” she chided
him gently. “It will be.” Paloma put one arm around Marco, her
other hand against Claudio’s chest. “I doubt we can restore what is
lost, but what is land, compared to family?”

Claudio leaned against the door frame, at ease
now and smiling at his sister. He tried to speak, but his eyes
filled with tears. He set down the brand and held out his arms for
both of them. He looked over his shoulder, spoke softly, and
Graciela joined them.

The four of them stood close together, no words
needed.

Paloma broke the spell in her sweet way,
looking at Marco, her expression earnest. “My love, do our parents
really know that Claudio and I are happy?”

Marco wondered how many times Paloma would ask
that of him. He was no theologian, but he had faith in his answer,
because it put to rest his own sorrow. And if she asked again, what
did it matter? In turn, she would be there each night to comfort
him through dreams not of his choosing. He had his strengths; she
had hers.

“
They know, my dear ones. Of this I
am certain,” he told the brother and sister. “How, I could not tell
you. I leave that to Him. Will that do?”

Paloma nodded, her face hidden against his
chest. His heart told him she smiled.

* * *

A
well-known veteran of the
romance writing field, Carla Kelly is the author of thirty-one
novels and three non-fiction works, as well as numerous short
stories and articles for various publications. She is the recipient
of two RITA Awards from Romance Writers of America for Best Regency
of the Year; two Spur Awards from Western Writers of America; two
Whitney Awards, 2011 and 2012; and a Lifetime Achievement Award
from Romantic Times.

Carla’s interest in historical fiction is a
byproduct of her lifelong study of history. She’s held a variety of
jobs, including public relations work for major hospitals and
hospices, feature writer and columnist for a North Dakota daily
newspaper, and ranger in the National Park Service (her favorite
job) at Fort Laramie National Historic Site and Fort Union Trading
Post National Historic Site. She has worked for the North Dakota
Historical Society as a contract researcher. Interest in the
Napoleonic Wars at sea led to a recent series of novels about the
British Channel Fleet during that conflict. Of late, Carla has
written two novels set in southeast Wyoming in 1910 that focus on
her Mormon background and her interest in ranching.

You can find Carla on the Web at:
www.carlakellyauthor.com.