The Outlaw's Bride (17 page)

“This was the plan, wasn’t it?” Noah said. “I was to take you safely to your fancy don.”

Isobel stood. “But, Noah, that was before—”

“Buenas tardes.
Good afternoon.” The chocolate-rich voice drew their attention to the doorway. Tall, with slick black hair, a thin mustache and crackling brown eyes, Don Guillermo Pascal removed his hat and gave the slightest of bows.

“Señorita Matas,” he said. “What a lovely surprise.”

Noah took a long look at the man who soon would be Isobel’s husband. And a dandy he was. He wore a brown
suede suit with black leather trim and rows of buttons. At his hip hung a pistol with a carved ivory handle. Every inch of his holster and gun belt had been tooled. And on his feet gleamed the shiniest pair of pointed-toe boots Noah had ever seen.

He glanced down at his own leather boots, crusted with dried mud and worn down at the heels. His denims had been washed hundreds of times and were threadbare to prove it. The cuffs of his chambray shirt had frayed so badly there was no point mending them. A layer of dust had coated his hat, and his duster smelled of saddle leather and old horseflesh.

Don Guillermo glided toward Isobel and took her hand. Lifting it to his lips, he placed a kiss on her fingertips.

She smiled.

When the Spaniard lifted his head and saw that flash of white teeth and those full lips, Noah knew right off Isobel had won her man. His eyes sparkling, Don Guillermo bent for a second kiss. “
Cariña,
you must be exhausted from your journey,” he said. “I’ll order a servant to prepare your room. You must bathe and refresh yourself before dinner.”

Isobel tipped her head.

“You may go,
señor,
” he told Noah. “Señorita Matas will have no further need of your services.”

With that he stepped through the door, boot heels ringing sharp
rat-a-tats
on the tile floor.

Noah fixed his eyes on Isobel. Her high cheekbones held a flush that told him she’d been pleased by the attentions of the elegant
señor
. He tried to squelch the image of the man ever touching Isobel again. His prickly
mustache poking into her lip as he kissed her. His long, thin fingers toying with her hair.

“Noah—”

“Isobel—”

Their words overlapped. She cleared her throat. He stuffed his Stetson on his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You will leave me here?” she said. It was more a plea than a question.

He walked to the door. “Take care, Isobel.”

As he crossed the long hall, Noah passed a woman who must have been Guillermo’s mother, hurrying to meet their guest. A black lace mantilla billowed behind her.

“¡Ah, Señorita Matas—que bonita!”
the woman cried.
“¡Bienvenidos, cariña!”

Noah hightailed it to his horse and rode away, thinking how glad he was to have Isobel off his hands. Yes, sir. No looking out for somebody else’s skin. No wild-goose chases after Snake Jackson.

He had to admit they’d had a good time together, all in all. The cowboy and the
señorita.
Memories filtered through his mind—the first moment he saw her in that new blue dress, the night she slipped off her horse into his arms, the way she typed page after page of his story, the hours she spent working that kitchen garden, the way she fit so perfectly against him as he held her….

But she was where she’d always wanted to be—with her rich Spaniard instead of some old dusty…what had she called him?…vaquero.

Isobel didn’t need to be out riding the trail, hiding from bad hombres like Snake Jackson and sleeping under
the stars. She deserved a fine hacienda, fat cattle, fiestas. She deserved a man like Guillermo Pascal.

Noah reined his horse and looked over his shoulder at the hacienda. He would never forget the woman he loved.

D
oña María Pascal gave her eldest son the privilege of showing their visitor around the house and grounds. Isobel searched in vain for any sign of Noah as she walked down a flagstone path lined with blossoming red roses.

When Don Guillermo extended a hand to assist her over a bridge, she had no choice but to take it. Tucking her arm through his, he drew her close.

“So you came all the way from Catalonia?” he asked.

Isobel nodded. “A telegram was sent from Lincoln. I’ve been in New Mexico more than two months.”

“But
cariña,
you should have come directly to Santa Fe. If I had known—”

“Known what?” she retorted, losing patience. “You knew my father had been murdered and the land-grant titles stolen. My mother sent a letter saying I was traveling to New Mexico—so you knew that, also. What did you not know,
señor?
”

“We speak honestly, I see.” He took a breath. “Very well,
señorita
. I did not know you were so beautiful.”

The honest avowal caught her off guard. “How can my appearance possibly matter in this situation?”

“It matters very much. To me.” Stroking his narrow black mustache, he eyed her. “At my father’s death, I became the head of our family, and I lack nothing. Your land appealed to me when your father offered it as part of the betrothal agreement. But I’ve acquired much property since. If I regain your titles—and I have no doubt that I can—I will absorb the land into my own. The jewels, of course, are of value, as well. Land, jewels…these I have in plenty. But women are scarce in this rough land.”

“Especially beautiful women?”

He smiled. “You are a beautiful woman with a quick mind. Our fathers were wise to have arranged our marriage.”

“You intend to follow through with it, Don Guillermo?”

“Only time will tell, Señorita Matas.”

In the following days, Isobel spent much of each day nosing through local newspapers. Don Guillermo had little patience for her preoccupation with reading and marking the latest events in Lincoln County. If she didn’t participate in the activities of the estate, he informed her, he would have the newspapers removed from the house.

Isobel did her best to behave as a future doña in the
familia
Pascal. After all, she had once made a marriage of convenience—why not again? But the answer was obvious. She had grown to love Noah Buchanan with a passion she knew could never be matched. Even so, she wrote a letter to Dr. Ealy, asking where he had registered
the hasty marriage and how she might end it with equal quickness.

Guillermo Pascal was not unpleasant, she admitted to herself. His appearance was tolerable. His manners were impeccable. But what attraction could she possibly feel for this self-absorbed, shallow man?

And so, reading the
Cimarron News Press
, she wept over the memorial Alexander McSween had written for Dick Brewer. His glowing praise reminded her of the deep loss Noah and Susan had suffered.

Editorials in the
Santa Fe New Mexican,
the
Trinidad Enterprise and Chronicle
and the
Mesilla Independent
volleyed the situation in Lincoln County back and forth—some writers favoring Dolan, others praising the bravery of McSween and the Regulators.

Jimmie Dolan began to defend himself in the newspapers. Isobel felt his whining letters only revealed his many weaknesses.

A short notice buried in the
New Mexican
brought her hope for Noah’s case against Dolan. James J. Dolan & Co. was temporarily shuttering its mercantile in Lincoln due to unstable conditions. Was it possible the outcome in the district court had driven the tyrant from the county?

More good news came when Alexander McSween wrote that he had been authorized by John Tunstall’s father in England to offer a reward of five thousand dollars for the apprehension and conviction of his son’s murderers. Isobel knew this would improve the reputation of the Regulators, even though they themselves had been outlawed. Bounty hunters would set their sights on Snake Jackson and the rest of Dolan’s bunch.

When Guillermo left the hacienda to look after his
properties in Santa Fe, Doña María began joining Isobel on the patio. At first they simply enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air wafting down from the Sangre de Cristos. But soon the elder woman began leafing through newspapers, too.

“This cannot be good for the Regulators,” Doña María commented one afternoon as she was browsing the
Cimarron News and Press
. “They’re killing again in Lincoln County.”

“Who died?” Isobel craned to read the news over the doña’s shoulder.

“Somebody shot a man at the Fritz ranch on the Rio Bonito—Frank Macnab.”

“Macnab was the leader of the Regulators! Who shot him?”

“The Seven Rivers Gang—from the Rio Pecos.”

Isobel tried to breathe. More men had joined the Dolan forces. And they’d murdered Frank Macnab, leaving the Regulators leaderless again.

“Oh, more trouble here,” Doña María said, trailing a finger down the text as she read. “George Coe shot one of the Dolan bunch. It says the Fort Stanton soldiers have returned to Lincoln to keep order, and the Seven Rivers men surrendered to them.”

“Is Captain Purington holding them at the fort?”

“Colonel Dudley runs the garrison now.” The doña turned to Isobel. “You were in Lincoln. Do you favor Dolan or McSween?”

“McSween is good and honest,” Isobel answered. “He carries no gun and tries to make peace. Jimmie Dolan used his mercantile to cheat the United States government so badly his business was banished from Fort Stan
ton. Now he plays games of deceit on the landowners. His men are murderers and thieves.”

The old woman leaned forward, brown eyes sparkling. “It’s like a bullfight, yes? One strong and brave struggling against another, also strong and brave. Who will win?”

“I don’t know, Doña María.”

“Together we watch this bullfight, Señorita Matas.”

Isobel nodded, feeling the first spark of companionship since her arrival. “We watch together.”

The doña laughed and clapped her hands. “
¡Olé!
”

Isobel enjoyed sitting with the matriarch on the portal. But she soon saw that her dreams of helping run the Pascal hacienda were impossible.

No one in the family would hear of her riding out to see the cattle. She was kept inside, fed, pampered and clothed by the finest dressmakers in Santa Fe. She spent the days with the doña—stitching and playing cards.

But no matter how hard she tried to play the dutiful betrothed, she could not erase Noah Buchanan from her heart. Was he still in Santa Fe? Surely not after all this time. What had become of his quest for justice against Jimmie Dolan?

Almost a month had passed since Noah had ridden away from the Pascal hacienda. The newspapers never mentioned his name. Susan Gates wrote to Isobel twice, but she said nothing about the cowboy.

Dr. Ealy sent a letter saying he had registered the Matas-Buchanan marriage with Squire Wilson. When Governor Axtell had voided Wilson’s appointment as justice of the peace, it had complicated matters. Wilson was still recovering from his wounds, but he had assured
Dr. Ealy that he would find a way to look back through the records and see what could be done to quickly annul the union.

Feeding sunflower seeds to the green parrot one morning at the end of May, Isobel heard someone join her on the portal. She supposed it was Doña María, for they always sat together at this time of day to read and chat.

Over the weeks, Isobel had weighed her options and decided to return to Spain. After Dr. Ealy confirmed the dissolution of her marriage to Noah, she would rejoin her family as a confirmed
soltera
, a spinster. She had chosen that day to tell the doña about her plan, so she was surprised when Don Guillermo touched her arm.

“Señorita,”
he said.

She gasped. “Oh,
señor
, you startled me.”

“Forgive me, but I must speak with you about our betrothal.” He folded his hands behind his back. “I have contacted territorial officials in Santa Fe regarding your family’s stolen land titles. It should be little trouble to restore them.”

“But my family was told the thief had started transferal proceedings. How have you settled it so easily?”

“I have connections,
cariña
.” He gave her a small smile. “I have found it agreeable that we should wed. The ceremony will take place at the end of three weeks.”

“Three weeks!”

“Have no concern, Isobel. I have arranged everything. The food, the entertainment, your gown, the church. The first banns were published in this morning’s newspaper. You and my mother, I am certain, will peruse the announcement at your leisure.”

“But what about my family? My mother?”

“I have written to confirm the details,” he continued. “My mother is amenable to the union, as are my brothers.”

“And what about me?” Isobel said. “Did you ask for my consent, Don Guillermo?”

“You gave your consent five years ago when you agreed to the betrothal. You confirmed it the day you walked through my door.”

Isobel looked away. “Five years was a long time ago. I admit, I have come to care for your mother and your family. Once, becoming your bride was the summit of my aspirations. But, since coming here, I have had time to consider my future. I intend to return to Spain.”

“Spain? Certainly not! I won’t allow it. Our families signed a betrothal agreement. I have begun proceedings of land transfer from your name to mine. The wedding is arranged,
señorita,
and you will marry me.”

“That’s not much of a proposal, Pascal.”

The deep voice from behind a boxwood hedge startled Isobel.

“Noah?” She caught her breath as the cowboy rounded the hedge.

“Don’t draw your gun,
señor.
” Noah leveled his own six-shooter at the Spaniard.

“What is the meaning of this?” Don Guillermo demanded.

“I’ve come for Isobel.”

“Señorita Matas is my betrothed. She will go nowhere.”

“I hate to break it to you, but Isobel is my wife. Mrs. Buchanan, to you. I married her the day we met—February eighteenth, 1878, three months ago.”

Guillermo turned on Isobel. “Perhaps you can explain what this man is—”

“I’ve come for you, Isobel,” Noah cut in. “We’ve got urgent business in Lincoln County.”

Isobel could hardly speak in the presence of this man she had believed she would never see again. “What happened?” she managed.

“Seems like snakes are always after you, sweetheart.”

Speaking to Isobel, Noah holstered his gun, but his blue eyes never left Guillermo’s face. “Tom Catron—one of the territory’s biggest snakes himself—let slip a little fact the other day while we were chatting. Seems his district attorney’s office has been working on behalf of the Pascal family to secure a packet of stolen land-grant titles from a fellow named Jim Jackson.”

“Snake?” Isobel’s eyes darted to Don Guillermo.

“A couple of years back,” Noah explained, “Snake Jackson went to Jimmie Dolan and told him he had the Matas family’s Spanish land-grant titles. Dolan took the matter to his pal Catron in Santa Fe. Catron approached the Pascals to see if things could be done under the table in a way that could benefit everyone. Don Guillermo could buy off Catron, Dolan and Snake, get the land he wanted and never have to get hitched to a spinster. I’m told he’s been known to enjoy the company of many women.”

“But I came to New Mexico and upset your plans,” Isobel said to Guillermo. “Then you decided you liked me well enough, after all.”

Noah grunted. “Pascal realized he could marry you, get the titles legally and cut the other men out of the
deal. With his connections inside the ring, he knew he wouldn’t have much trouble.”

“The ring?” Doña María’s voice was shrill across the garden. “What ring is that?”

“It’s nothing,
mamá
.” Don Guillermo held out a hand to keep his mother back. “A little business between Señor Buchanan and myself.”

“Business?” Embroidery bag in one hand and newspapers in the other, the doña elbowed past her son to face Noah. “Speak frankly,
señor
. I’ve heard many rumors about this ring. What do you know?”

“Your son is a member of the Santa Fe Ring, doña,” Noah said. “He’s in with Governor Axtell, Tom Catron and the other scalawags trying to own New Mexico. Guillermo has doubled the Pascal family land holdings since your husband’s death, ma’am. These days, nobody gets land in the territory so easily without connections.”

Isobel glared at Guillermo as she recalled his words to her minutes before,
I have connections, cariña.

The doña’s eyes narrowed at Noah. “You accuse my son of illegal dealings, vaquero.”

“He’s a liar,
mamá
,” Guillermo interjected. “The fool even claims to have married Señorita Matas!”

Doña María turned to Isobel. “Who is this man?”

Isobel knew she could deny everything Noah had said. She could marry Don Guillermo and have her hacienda, horses, gardens, fiestas. Her children would be of pure Spanish blood, a proud dynasty.

Then she looked into the cowboy’s blue eyes.

“Noah Buchanan speaks the truth,” she admitted softly. “He is my husband. For my protection, we wed in
haste. I came here planning to marry your son, but now I understand who he really is. I shall return to Spain.”

“But the wedding? And my grandchildren? And what about our newspapers,
mija?
”

“You have been good to me, Doña María,” Isobel said, kissing her gently on each cheek. “I thank you.”

Her heart lighter than it had been in many weeks, Isobel lifted her skirts and started for the stables. It seemed that God had heard her prayers and chosen to smile upon her after all.

“I made appointments with Governor Axtell and District Attorney Catron,” Noah was saying as he and Isobel sat on a blanket beside a flickering campfire. “Then I took a room at a hotel and began to write.”