Return of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  She would be lost.

  Instead she dropped her hands to her sides and cast her eyes downward. “I’ve always wondered. Why did you not ask for my hand in marriage?”

  He picked up the towel, dried his face, and tilted her chin up with his free hand. “I did. Surely your father told you.”

  Her lungs seized, making it hard to breathe. She shook her head. “He never mentioned it. What happened?”

  Gabriel reached behind her and lifted a clean shirt out of the valise on the bed. “He wasn’t feeling well that day, and I was shown into his bedchamber. He heard me politely, asked about my prospects, and sent me packing. I knew then he had someone else in mind for you.”

  “Where was I?”

  “You weren’t at home, so I didn’t have a chance to talk to you.”

  “You didn’t return?”

  “No. It was soon after that I was hauled off to that hellhole.”

  Isabella studied his face while he finished dressing. She’d never been sure their liaison had been as serious for him as it had been for her.

  Now she knew.

  Which changed everything.

  A shuffling in the next room told her Catalina had returned. Steadying herself, she turned and smiled at her servant when Catalina widened her eyes at Gabriel’s presence in the room.

  “I do beg your pardon, señor.”

  Gabriel gave her one of his dazzling smiles. “Nothing to pardon, Catalina. The señora and I are going out, and we’ll probably return late. Pablo said you have a cousin in town, so if you wish to pay her a visit, you have permission to return in the morning. Pablo will escort you.”

  The little maid looked for a sign from her mistress. Pleased, Isabella nodded her approval. “By all means, visit your cousin. But plan to return with us to the ranch early in the morning. Be back just after sunup.”

  “Gracias.”

  Gabriel held out his arm. “Shall we go, querida? We don’t want to keep my niece and new nephew waiting.”

  She rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and proceeded toward the hall. She still had questions for Gabriel, but they could be asked later. First they had to get through this dinner. She hoped Gabriel had glib explanations.

  Weary of lies and innuendos, she would let him do the talking. She had much to think about, and for once she was looking forward to the night ahead.

  Chapter 22

  Port was served while the women went to the ladies’ retiring room. The dinner had gone relatively well. Sorina had exclaimed about how delighted she was to have a new aunt, and asked questions about where they’d be living and when they planned to tell the rest of the family. She’d even made sly references about dressmakers who could skillfully alter wardrobes.

  Lance Grainger was skeptical.

  Gabriel raised his near-empty wine glass, knowing brandy awaited him in his room. “To two happy couples.”

  Grainger lowered his port without touching it, his eyes boring into Gabriel’s. “Now tell me what’s really going on.”

  Sorina’s husband was shrewd. He’d been a naval officer, a diplomat, and a spy, and would be serving the government as a translator once the treaty was ratified. Little got past him.

  Considering his options, Gabriel decided honesty was best. Mitchell, Grainger’s best friend and former handler, might have dropped a few hints already. “You knew Isabella’s storehouse was burned down.”

  Grainger moved closer, his eyes scanning the room to make sure the women hadn’t returned. “Go on.”

  “I believe it’s the work of a gang of men who want her property. Many scoundrels are buying properties from anyone who’s in dire straits . . . land they think they can resell at a higher price once the treaty is finalized and the new government is in place. Settlers will come here, and available land for farming is scarce. In Isabella’s case, I think there’s more involved.”

  “They’ve purposely targeted Isabella?”

  “They don’t know her. They saw her as a widow, a vulnerable single lady who lost her husband, a woman trying to manage thousands of acres on her own. Once they realized how stubborn she is, other measures had to be taken.”

  “I gather she told them to go to hell.”

  “In so many words. Then her storehouse was burned down to force her to change her mind. But the situation got worse. She was out walking and someone took a shot at her.”

  Grainger grabbed handfuls of the tablecloth, nearly toppling the centerpiece. “When did that happen?”

  “A few days ago. It’s a graze, but it scared her. We decided to concoct this marriage for her protection, so they would think they had to deal with a husband. We plan to annul the marriage once the danger is past.”

  “That was the ‘haste’ then, not what Sorina thinks.”

  “Right. We didn’t want to worry her. When she jumped to her own conclusion, we let it be.”

  Grainger picked up his port and took a deep swallow. His eyes softened. “Thank you for that. She loves you and Isabella. She’d want to postpone our trip.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “Why go to such lengths? There must be other properties they can buy without resorting to force.”

  How much should he tell Grainger? Gabriel decided he deserved the complete truth and told him about the theories he’d developed based on what he’d overheard.

  “That’s ridiculous. There’s no gold in California. The gang must have been sold a story by a charlatan who bought or stole a nugget from somewhere else.”

  Gabriel held up the port decanter to see if Grainger wanted a refill before continuing. “Actually there is, or was. Have you ever heard the story from Mission San Fernando?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Some time in the spring of 1842, a man named Francisco Lopez discovered gold particles in Placerita Canyon. They were clinging to the roots of wild onion bulbs. For the next four years he continued to search for gold, as did others, mainly in the stream that fed the mission’s waterways. When the source, wherever it had been, was not located and no more gold was to be found, the would-be miners abandoned the project.”

  “Was he associated with the mission?”

  “No, he was majordomo of a nearby rancho. Stories persisted that the padres at the mission knew about the gold, mined it, and hid it on the premises. They had not, although even after the mission was sold by Governor Pico, stories persisted and treasure hunters dug up the grounds and destroyed walls trying to find it.”

  “I’ve never heard this,” said Grainger. “I’m sure the Americans know nothing about it. It was probably an isolated vein, long gone. No other gold is in the territory, certainly not on Isabella’s property.”

  “I agree. But somehow the men harassing her believe there is. A second rumor has surfaced about a gold nugget found in the river that runs through Rancho de Los Arboles.”

  “And that is Isabella’s property.”

  Gabriel nodded. “It’s an isolated incident. The man could have had the nugget for years and made up the story to get attention.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Mitchell.”

  “He who knows all. Here come the ladies. We’ll talk later.”

  Sorina winked at her husband and tugged at his arm. “Madre de Dios, I’m weary. We should retire.”

  The couples bade each other good night, and Sorina and Lance walked hand in hand from the room.

  “Shall we leave as well, querida? Or do you wish to order tea?”

  “I’m ready, but we still have much to discuss.”

  “Oh? You wouldn’t be referring to our sleeping arrangements, would you?”

  A bright flush stained her cheeks. “That, too.”

  She preceded him from the room, giving him a v
iew of her trim backside swaying as she walked. She’d worn the rose-colored gown, the folds of cloth fitting snugly along her curves. He’d love to take it off her, but she wouldn’t allow it.

  Not yet.

  The talk she wanted to have probably had to do with the annulment. He’d have to persuade her to keep up the pretense a bit longer.

  He adjusted his trousers and followed her.

  ~ ~ ~

  The room glowed with soft light from a single oil lamp. Gabriel filled two glasses from the brandy decanter while Isabella draped her shawl on a chairback. The evening was warm, and Catalina had left a window ajar to let in whatever breeze might develop.

  The imposing four-poster bed visible through the open door of the bedchamber drew her gaze. How easy it would be to succumb to the pleasures it offered. Gabriel had been a skilled lover in his youth, and he must be magnificent now.

  A curl of heat settled in her core. She sat at one end of the couch, determined to focus on the problem at hand, not on the man.

  Gabriel handed her the glass after warming it over the candle. Never one for the weak beverages most women preferred, Isabella had learned to drink brandy with her father and brothers. She preferred it warm. Gabriel remembered.

  She took a small sip and held the bowl of the brandy glass between her palms. They seemed in perfect accord tonight, and she hated to disrupt the mood, but she was anxious to return to the ranch now that she was no longer in danger. “It seems your plan has done its job.”

  “You think so, querida?”

  “Did you see the expression on Logan’s face when you announced that you’re my husband? I had to feign a coughing spell to keep from laughing and giving our plan away.”

  Gabriel sipped his brandy, his expression unreadable in the candlelight. He set it down and sat closer to her, turning slightly so their knees were touching. “It was a delightful moment. He seemed to be speechless.”

  She giggled as she remembered Logan dabbing the handkerchief on his forehead and his looks over his shoulder at his companions, as if drawing courage from them. “His hasty departure was funny, was it not?”

  “He couldn’t get away fast enough. Most likely he needed new instructions from his companions.”

  “Or perhaps he had an accident in his smallclothes and needed to depart.”

  “In a hurry.”

  Isabella snorted, and they both laughed. It had always been like this with Gabriel. They were easy in each other’s company, comfortable, perhaps because they’d been friends before they became lovers. She never recalled laughing with Tomas.

  “Did Señor Mitchell discover why they wanted my property to the point of burning down its greatest assets?”

  Gabriel was quiet, and the mood was broken.

  “Did Tomas ever discuss the possibility of metals on his rancho?”

  “You mean silver? The silver for his fancy saddles came from Mexico. I recall the conversation when he found out the cost.”

  “No. I mean gold. Did he ever claim to have found a gold nugget in a stream or talk about mining?”

  Isabella’s eyebrows shot up. “Gold? No. He once jokingly said he wished he had a silver mine, but that was after he saw the bill. Tomas taught me about business, as you know. He would not have kept something like that from me. Why do you ask?”

  Gabriel sipped his brandy again, then swirled it. “Mitchell and I believe Logan and his friends think you have gold on your property.”

  “That’s not possible, is it?”

  “Anything is possible, querida, but it’s something I wish we knew for sure. If the rumor persists—and there is a rumor—you may still be their target.”

  “But they would have to get rid of you first.”

  “Yes.” He stroked his chin while gazing past her shoulder. She didn’t like the hard glints in his eyes.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He smiled, that feral smile that made her hope she was never on the receiving end of his wrath. “What if I made myself an easy target? It would draw them out. Witnesses could be arranged. You would finally be safe.”

  Fear curled in her gut. If Gabriel was injured or killed, she would never forgive herself for involving him. Her property was not worth his life.

  She reached out and touched his face—his beloved face. “No, Gabriel. You must not do this. If your theory is correct, we’ll sell the property and move back to your home until the annulment. Tía Consuelo would love the company. I could help Sorina with her school. I hate to let them win, but I will not allow you to risk yourself.”

  Had she just said what she heard come out of her mouth? Her property meant independence. It was everything.

  No, not everything.

  His eyes were warm on her face, and the lazy, heart-melting smile was back. “You care so much for me, querida? I thought you hated me for forcing you into this arrangement. For leaving you all those years ago.”

  They were on dangerous ground, but Isabella couldn’t help herself. The revelation earlier in the day that he had actually asked her father for her hand in marriage rearranged their shared past and changed long-held perceptions.

  She swallowed her pride and asked the one question that had tormented her for years. “Why did you not come for me when you escaped? You sent Pablo with the note saying you wanted me to run away with you, and I packed a satchel and waited at our special place. You never came.”

  He removed her hand from his face and held it. His palm was warm and his fingers strong. His thumb traced a pattern on her wrist, sending shivers of heat through her body.

  “I swore on the grave of my mother that I would never tell you this, but I think I can be released from that promise now.” He leaned closer, the heat of his face warmed hers, and the scent of his shaving soap lingered on his skin. “I was in that hellhole they called a Mexican provincial jail for months. Very little food and water. A bucket for sanitation. Devoured by fleas.

  “I prayed my father would come. I desperately wanted him to believe me. Then one afternoon Pablo came to see me and told me a wealthy benefactor had contacted him and I was going to be allowed to escape. I couldn’t believe it. That’s when I sent him to you. I wanted you with me, querida. I never wanted to be parted from you again.”

  Isabella held her breath. Some secrets should remain buried. She hoped this was not one of them.

  “Who was the man?”

  He hesitated. “Tomas Fuentes.”

  Isabella let out her breath. This was not what she’d expected.

  “On the designated night, the jailer left and didn’t return. Tomas was waiting with a horse. A change of clothes and a bag of coins were in the saddlebags. I was to go to where the Rio San Diego empties into the sea, where a skiff would take me out to a ship bound for Santa Barbara. From there I was to make my way north to the Oregon Territory and make a new life for myself, never to return. When I asked him why he was doing this, he said he had offered for you and your father had accepted his suit. You would be treated well and would never want for anything. He said if I truly cared for you, I would let you go.”

  He dropped her hand and turned away. “I wanted to spit in his face and crawl back into my cell. But I was young and scared, and in the end, I was a coward. I knew he was right. I could never give you the kind of life Tomas Fuentes could give you. I did as he asked, and I’m not proud of it.”

  Isabella stilled, digesting this information. Tomas set him free? Then Tomas must have known about their affair. After all these years, she finally knew the truth.

  It was a relief. If he had said he was guilty of the crime he had been accused of and ran away to avoid punishment, the revelation would have been impossible to accept. Leaving a bad situation, but knowing she would be safe, was different, even though she’d been devastated at the time.


  She wanted to ask more about what he’d endured. For now she’d let it rest. The experience must have been painful. His downcast eyes and clenched fists told her he was reliving every detail in his mind, so she sat in silence, waiting for him to come out of his stupor.

  One point was now clear. His desertion hadn’t been cowardice at all.

  It had been an act of love.

  Chapter 23

  “Look at me, Gabriel.”

  He stared at his lap, the smile gone, then raised his head.

  “I won’t tell you it didn’t matter. I was devastated when I heard you’d gone without me. I took to my bed for days. In the end I got up, brushed myself off, and went on with my life.”

  “Did you hate me?”

  “At first. Prolonged hate poisons the soul. In time, I found I could be happy.”

  He gazed into her eyes. They appeared soft and mesmerizing in the candlelight.

  “I want you to know,” she continued, “that I never believed the charges against you, and later I learned Tomas hadn’t believed them either. He said one of his servants—a pious young woman—had been a victim of Santoro’s depravity. It would have taken a man of considerable influence and liberal bribe money to set you free. I often wondered if your father had done it. Sorina said your father was unsure because of your wild ways, and Antoine Santoro had provided some sort of proof that convinced him you were guilty.”

  “It’s not entirely my father’s fault,” Gabriel said. “In those days, Papa and I did not see eye to eye. When I ran, it reinforced his opinion of me. The truth is I should never have allowed myself to believe I would make a suitable husband in the first place. I should not have pursued you. That was my real crime.”