The Bastard (4 page)

Without
so
much as a glance at him
Lucita
replied in Spanish, "One man is much like another, though this one is more handsome than most. No matter what I say, you will do as you please."

He realized neither of them knew he understood the language and he grinned, sketching a bow toward
Lucita
. "
Muchas
gracias
, senora," he said.

After a startled stare, she grinned back at him. Looking at Stella, she shrugged as if to say it was in the hands of the gods.

"Half an hour, no more," Stella told him, untying the apron strings.

He's
a strange one, Stella thought as she coiled her braid under a straw bonnet. Fair as her skin was, it
didn't
do to get too much sun. She settled a Chinese silk shawl over her shoulders for the breeze off the ocean was cool. Like as not she was making a mistake, but then, it
wouldn't
be her first.
Or
her last. When it came to men, she never learned.

Outside the cantina, he offered her his arm and asked, "Where shall we walk?"

"To the docks."
She enjoyed looking at the ocean and the docks were public enough to keep her safe.

"Why do you work in the cantina?" he asked.

Because
I
own it. I inherited the cantina from my husband when he died." She
had no intention of telling
him it was her only source of income, or why she'd married who she had.

He raised his eyebrows. "You introduced yourself as Miss White."

"I prefer my maiden name. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Nothing.
'
Tis
only that I find it passing strange a beautiful woman like you, an American woman, would live in El Doblez."

She scowled. How and why
she'd
arrived in this place was none of his business. He must have sensed her annoyance because he veered off on another tack.

"I've been staying at the Gabaldon rancho," he said. "What do you think of the place?"

 
Her gaze swept over him, assessing the denim pants, the blue cotton shirt.
Clean, fairly new, but inexpensive.
Was he staying there or, more likely, working there? "Don Francisco is a gentleman
,"
she temporized.

"The don has a daughter."

"I've heard that, yes."

"With his wealth to provide a hefty dowry, I'm surprised she hasn't a husband."

Where was this leading? Stella wondered as they walked out onto the
longest
of the two wooden docks.
Surely
Diarmid Burwash didn't see himself as a suitor for the hand of the don's daughter! At the end of the
dock
she leaned against a mooring post and gazed at the diamond sparkle of the sun on the water. "I've heard it said Don Francisco is land poor," she said finally.

"What else have you heard?"

She shrugged. "We've had a drought these past four years--that's hard on the cattle."

"You're saying he's in trouble?"

"Don't put words in my mouth. How should
I
know? And why are you so curious?"

"He's offered me the rancho if I marry
Concepcion
." The abrupt way Diarmid blurted out the words gave her the feeling he
hadn't
meant to go so far as to tell her this.

Stella, truly astonished, raised her eyebrows. The rancho must be in
dire straits
if the Don was ready to accept an Anglo as a son-in-law. "Congratulations," she drawled.

He grasped her by the shoulders, looking down at her intently. His eyes, dark as a
Californio's
, held hers. A tremor slid along her spine at his touch. "I've been thinking about you ever since we met," he said.

She'd
thought about him more than once, but she wasn't about to tell him so. "What's that got to do with Concepcion Gabaldon?" she demanded.

He frowned. "Have you ever seen her?"

She
hadn't
, but
Lucita
had described the Don's daughter as an unlucky woman who'd turned into a dried-up old maid.
Easing from Diarmid's grasp, Stella said, "Are you asking my advice about whether or not to marry her?"

"No.
I
want the land and marrying the lass is the only way to get it--so wed her I will. If there
's no hook hidden
behind the bait. That's what I'm asking you--is there something Don Francisco's not telling me?"

"I've told you all I know."

“But why me?
Those
Californios
are as clannish as Highlanders and God knows I'm not one of them."

"To tell the truth, I wondered the same thing--why you? I don't have an answer." His news had shaken her in
more ways than one
.

Up until
he'd
mentioned marrying
Concepcion
, she'd believed he'd come to El Doblez to see her again, to try to get her into bed if he could. He attracted her and
she'd
almost decided to play the game of will-I-or-won't-I with him. It stung her to think
he'd
come for information instead.
About another woman, at that.

"I must get back to the cantina." Her words were sharper than
she'd
intended.

Stella turned from him and he grasped her arm, his fingers warm through the cotton of her sleeve. "'
Tis
true I'd find it easier if
Concepcion
looked like you," he said. Desire, warm as sunlight, flickered in the depths of his eyes.

"I'll never marry again." Her words dripped with bitterness. She freed her arm and started to walk away. She felt his hand on her bonnet, lifting up the side.

"'
Tisn't
marriage I'm proposing to you," he murmured, so close to her that his warm breath tickled her ear.

She ought to snap at him that she
wasn't
interested in anything he proposed, but she'd be lying. In deciding to come for this walk with him,
she'd
made up her mind about Diarmid Burwash.
Or
perhaps she'd known from the moment he walked into the cantina for the first time. Not that
she'd
make it easy for him, what was the fun in that?

"Stella," he said, "I--"

"Amigo!" a man's voice cried.

"Manuelo!"
Diarmid called to the black-garbed
Californio
striding toward them. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same
,"
Manuelo said, coming up to them.

Diarmid introduced her and Manuelo's eyes lingered on her admiringly. He
wasn't
bad looking for a
Californio
--at least he didn't sport one of those tiny mustachios she hated--but he didn't hold a candle to Diarmid. Stella smiled by way of greeting and excused herself.

"I must get to work
,"
she told both men and walked quickly away from the docks.

 
"How you say--much woman," Manuelo told Diarmid. "It's no wonder you stayed in El Doblez instead of returning to my uncle's after delivering the letter."

"I'm glad to see you've recovered from the malaria," Diarmid said. "Did you come here looking for me?"

Manuelo shook his head. "Me, I'm on my way to
San Diego
to meet my betrothed, just as I was when we first met. El Doblez is but a stop on the way.
It's
my good fortune to find you. Shall we once again journey together?"

"I'm not going to
San Diego
." Diarmid put his arm over Manuelo's shoulders and led him onto the dock, making certain they were out of earshot of any possible listener. "Tell me, what
do you
know about the man I delivered that letter to."

"I've never met Don
Francisco,
he's a friend of Don Luis, the man I worked for near
Santa Cruz
. That's who the letter was from."

Dropping his arm, Diarmid looked Manuelo in the eye, aware of how prickly
Californios
could be
when
it came to what they regarded as a breach of
honor
. "Please don't take offense at my questions, the rest of my life hangs in the balance."

"Are you not my friend? I'll tell you whatever I can."

"Do you have any idea what Don Luis said in his letter to Don Francisco?"

Manuelo stared at him for a long moment. "I think I know," he said at last.

"If it wasn't important to me, I wouldn't ask you to tell me."

Manuelo took a deep breath. "You know what has happened to us since the arrival of the Americans, since
California
became one of the
United States
. It's why I went to work for another when once my father owned a thriving rancho."

Diarmid nodded.

"It's little better around here. Between the drought and the Anglos--" Manuelo shrugged.

"Don Francisco?" Diarmid reminded him.

"He asked for a loan. He was turned down, the money's not there to be
loaned,
Don Luis could no longer even pay me. His land will soon be lost, sold to the Americans before they take it from him
like
they did my father's.
A terrible thing.
What are we without land? What is any man without land to pass on to his sons?"

Diarmid digested his words, realizing that here in front of him might be the solution to one of his problems. "You're a lad after my own heart," he said finally.
"My friend.
How would you like to come to work for
me
? I can't promise money but, in the future, I can promise you land of your own."

"This is, perhaps, a jest?"

Diarmid shook his head. "I'll explain. One more question. Have you heard why Senorita Concepcion Gabaldon never married?"

"Ah, that's an interesting story.
I've
never met her, but all we
Californios
know of the senorita. She is--how you say?--bad luck. She
was betrothed
three times and all three of the men were killed before the wedding day.
One was gored by a bull
, one was shot, one fell overboard from a ship and drowned. Some of my friends, they say
she's
accursed. Me, I
don't
believe in such things but I'd never propose to a woman so
unfavored
by God. Besides, now there may not even be a dowry left."

"I've had my share of bad luck and more," Diarmid said
, "
but that's all behind me.
I'm
going to marry
Concepcion
. And there is a dowry--the rancho."

Manuelo gaped at him.
"You!"

"That's why I can offer you land if you come to work for me. The Gabaldon rancho will be mine soon after the wedding."

Manuelo eyed him narrowly. "Don Francisco agrees to this?"

"It was his idea."

“You marry his daughter and he gives you the rancho?"

"Once a grandchild's born."
Diarmid grinned. "That's easy enough to arrange."

"Dios, I can hardly believe this!"

"Amigo, it's God's truth, but I admit I can hardly believe it myself. On your return from
San Diego
, stop by the rancho and visit me."

Manuelo smiled and clapped Diarmid on the shoulder. "I'll bring better news to my betrothed than I expected. If you do marry Concepcion Gabaldon,
I'll
come to work for you. Then Juanita and I won't have to delay our wedding as long as I thought."

"And I'll have the advice of a man who's worked with cattle. I
don't
know the first thing about running a rancho. I need you, Manuelo, and I'll put my promise of land into writing."