Philippe, a weeping Abilene in hand, pushed through the growing crowd and ran to Dante. He nudged the children toward their mother and took a stance before them. Not that he could stop all these men by himself. But he would die trying. More than anything, he hated when the strong picked on the weak. As his mother had done to him his entire childhood.
“Call off your men, señor. I’ve already proven able to beat them. Or will you now attack women and children in the light of day?”
“I know not what you mean, pirate.” The Spaniard spat as he rose to his feet and brushed dust from his clothes.
“I think you do.”
“This was only a misunderstanding. One which you would do well to stay out of.” He plucked his hat from the dirt and eyed Dante with disdain. “Señora Moreau and I were merely discussing her future. Nothing more.”
“A future which required your hand striking her face?”
“Disrespect from women must be dealt with, or it will grow like a cancer. Surely you agree?”
“I do not.” Dante scanned the men waiting for one word from their boss to pummel him. But a crowd formed around the altercation, and he doubted the don wanted his reputation soiled. Dante glared at him. “Stay away from Señora Moreau and her children.”
“Of course. I mean them no harm.” The Spaniard slipped on his hat and dipped a bow toward Caroline. “When this pirate is through with you, señora, you know where I am.”
Caroline would like to tell the man that even if he lived in a golden palace, she’d never seek him out, but she didn’t want to cause more trouble and upset Abilene, who still clung to her chest as tight as a barnacle to a ship, her thumb stuck in her mouth.
Philippe, however, spit after the men as they and Señor Casimiro sauntered away. “Hush, Philippe.” She held him back, lest he try something else. Her son, where did he get such courage? Certainly not from his father. Trying to settle the pounding of her heart, Caroline drew a deep breath as Señor Vega turned to face them. Once again he had saved their lives. Once again he had stood up against overwhelming odds when he could have run. Why? The look she now saw in his eyes made her forget he was a rogue, a thief. And that he’d soon leave. It was a look of concern, protection, and even affection. But that couldn’t be.
Steeling herself against the longing rising within her, she thanked him politely and started on her way, but Abilene reached toward the man. The pirate took her in his embrace, her red curls tumbling over his brown open shirt, her tiny hands reaching around his neck and gripping his collar as she nuzzled her head beneath his chin. He rubbed her back and glanced down at Philippe who stared at him with awe. “You were very brave, Philippe,” he said, patting the lad on the back.
“I was?” The young boy’s eyes flashed. “If I’d had a pistol, Señor Vega, I’d have taken care of them all!”
“No, you wouldn’t have, Philippe,” Caroline said sharply, still trying to recover from her daughter’s complete trust in this pirate. “And you won’t have a gun until you’re fully grown.”
The excitement fled from Philippe’s face, but it couldn’t be helped. She would not have this pirate influencing her son to become a fighter like he was.
After gathering the supplies she’d dropped, Caroline followed Dante back to the buckboard, ignoring the curious eyes of the townspeople staring at the enigma who was both a family man and a pirate. She couldn’t agree more, for she was having just as much difficulty associating the two. At the moment, however, she was thankful for both. Her arm still throbbed from where Don Casimiro had clutched her, and a shiver ran through her at the thought of the horrid man. If Dante had not come when he did … Well, it was best not to think of it. For now, he sat beside her on the driver’s perch—so close their legs almost touched. Yet she felt safe. Very safe.
He snapped the reins, and within moments the sea came into view. A sheen of dark blue spanned to the fog bank on the horizon as waves tumbled ashore in a foamy dance. The same ship she’d seen two weeks ago rocked in the choppy waters.
“Is that your ship, Señor Pirate?” A blast of wind nearly tore off her bonnet, and she held it in place.
He pulled the horse to a halt and gazed out to sea, the longing in his eyes confirming what Señor Casimiro had said. This man would leave. He would sail back out to sea where he belonged. But what did she care? As long as he stayed through the harvest as he’d promised.
“The Bounty,” he finally answered.
“How much is the council charging to redeem her?”
“More than I have.” He smiled, but his eyes remained on the ship.
“You miss being at sea,” she stated rather than asked.
He said nothing.
“Can I come aboard your ship?” Philippe poked his head between them from behind.
“Now, Philippe, that’s not polite to ask. And besides, when Señor Vega gets his ship back, he won’t want children running about on deck.”
“But I won’t run, and I can tie knots now and help.”
Dante smiled down at the boy. “You would make a great sailor, Philippe.”
Abilene pulled out her thumb. “Me, too. I can learn knots. And I can clean floors. Mama lets me help at home.”
“We can all become pirates!” Philippe shouted, beaming.
“We are not becoming pirates!” Caroline said with horror as Dante chuckled and snapped the reins.
Dante dabbed a moist cloth on the edge of Caroline’s lip, where a bruise had formed from Señor Casimiro’s strike. Supper was over, and after several stories were told and prayers were said, the children had finally fallen asleep. Prayers, bah! Even after her harrowing day, the lady had still thanked God for His love and protection. Now, as they sat on the veranda under the light of a single lantern and a full moon, Dante finally did what he’d been longing to do all evening—tend to the lady’s wound. He hadn’t been sure she would allow his touch, but when he’d brought the bowl of water and a cloth onto the veranda, she hadn’t flinched like she usually did when he drew near.
“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Dante forced down an anger that, even now, threatened to send him over to this don’s estate and teach the man chivalry. He’d been searching the plaza for Caroline and the children when he’d seen her kick the brute. Even with several armed men surrounding her. What bravery! What pluck! Then, when the man had slapped her, Dante’s blood had boiled.
She closed her eyes to his touch and let out a sigh. A cool breeze stirred the loose curls at her neck. “Do you truly believe he’s responsible for the attacks on my vineyard?”
“I recognized one of his men. Si, he’s the one, all right.”
“He is one of the wealthiest dons in the city. His family came here in 1815, hailing from royalty in Spain, they say. What does he want with me?”
Dante raised a brow at her naïveté.
Even in the dim light, he saw the lady blush. “But until today he’s always been polite, even kind to me. Complimentary.”
“Of course he’s polite. Has it been so long since a man courted you?”
“In truth, yes.” A little smile graced her lips. “Yet attacking my vineyard is hardly a path to my heart.”
“I don’t believe your heart is his goal, señora. Just a means to an end.” He dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed her lips again. The blood was gone and the cut was small, but Dante didn’t want to stop. She smelled of lilacs and fresh bread, and her closed eyes afforded him a chance to study her delicate features: the slight upturn of her nose, the curve of her chin, the sweep of thick lashes resting on her cheeks.
“I can hardly believe it of him,” she said.
Leaning closer to get a whiff of her hair, he pressed the cloth to her mouth once again.
“Ouch.” She opened her eyes.
“Apologies.” Dante withdrew. “He won’t give up. You need protection. A group of farm hands to defend you.”
“Or just one pirate.” She smiled, but then it slipped away. “But you will leave soon.�
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Dante could not deny it. He was not a man meant to be landlocked. The sea called to him day and night. He longed to be back aboard his ship, free again to travel where he wanted, to seek his fortune, make a difference for Mexico.
“Thank you.” She scooted away from him. “I cannot afford to pay more men. But God will provide. He always has.”
Dante flattened his lips. “You are safe now because of me and not this God of yours.”
“But He sent you to us, did He not?” She smiled then gazed up at the starlit sky as if she were looking at the Almighty Himself. Faith settled like a peaceful stream in her green eyes, and Dante felt a stirring of envy. What would it be like to have a Father who was all-powerful and who truly loved you? One on whom you could depend, one who would never disappoint or leave you.
She must have read his thoughts, for she laid a hand on his. “Where is your father, Señor Vega?”
“In Mexico. Veracruz. He runs a merchant business.”
“So, that is how he met your American mother? In his travels?”
He nodded, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “Si, in Boston.”
“Then why were you raised in America?”
Dante dropped the cloth in the bowl. “My mother’s family had fallen on hard times, and her marriage to my father supplied much-needed wealth. An arranged marriage. After the wedding, she refused to move to Mexico. Then, when I was born, she used the excuse of wanting the best education for her son.” He stared at the wooden porch beside his boots as anger smoldered in his heart. Dante had been a mistake, an unfortunate product of a loveless marriage.
“But your father didn’t move to America?”
“No. His business, his life, was in Mexico. I hardly ever saw him. Once a year, perhaps. My mother’s family was very powerful.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Dante rose and walked to the railing. “It was for the best. He didn’t turn out to be much of a father. After I left Harvard, I traveled to Mexico to be with him, but he disapproved of my idea of privateering. Vehemently disapproved.” He snorted. “Told me no son of his would ever be a pirate.”
“Then, why become one, Dante?”
The sound of his Christian name on her lips brought him around. The look in her eyes made him continue his tale.
“America had taken everything from me, my childhood, my father, my national identity. And then they took my homeland. I couldn’t understand why my father wouldn’t do something about it. I was as disappointed in him as he was in me, I suppose. Yet suddenly I was a man without a home. Neither my father nor my mother wanted me. In the end, it was the sea that gave me a home, a life, a purpose.”
“So, you truly believe in this cause of yours? Provoking American ships for Mexico?” Disapproval laced her tone.
“We all have our causes, señora. You have this vineyard, this dream of your husband’s. I have my revenge.”
“But yours will lead to death.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps. But it seems yours might as well.” Turning, he gripped the railing and gazed over the dark vineyard. “Is your husband’s dream worth dying for, señora? Don’t you have any dreams of your own?”
Dreams? Caroline had never asked herself that question. When she’d lived with her parents, their dreams had been hers. After she married François, his dream took their place. Now she supposed all she wanted was a good life for her children. A good home. Someday perhaps, a loving husband. And the freedom to make her own choices. Rising, she slid beside him. “My dream is for my children, Señor Vega.”
A breeze blew his black hair behind him. “I liked it when you called me Dante.”
She had liked it, too. Too much. It sounded right on her lips. Not the name of a pirate, but the name of a man who was kind and good, albeit a bit wounded by life.
“If you dream for a good life for your children, Caroline, you must keep them safe. I know men like Señor Casimiro. They strive for things they cannot have. He will not give up. Not even with me here.”
She hadn’t thought about that. The danger she was putting this man in. Before, it hadn’t really mattered. He owed her for saving his life. But now the thought of him being killed caused her insides to clench. “I have put you in danger.”
“I don’t fear him. I fear for you.” His eyes were lost to her in the shadows, but his sincerity thickened the air between them. “You must have protection, Caroline,” he added.
“God will protect us.”
“Blast it all!” He huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. “What has this God of yours done for you?”
Caroline lifted her chin. “He gave me a husband and two beautiful children, a vineyard, wine in the barrels, my freedom, hope for a future. And He brought us you. I’d say He’s done quite a bit.”
“You speak of Him as if you know Him.”
“I do. You can, too, Dante.”
“No, thanks.” He leaned against the post. “My mother showed me what God was like. I had my share of punishments for not obeying Him.”
Caroline’s chest grew heavy at his statement. “Your mother was wrong. God is not a set of restrictions and rules. He’s a father, He’s a friend. He’s a savior. And He wants to help you with your life.”
She could feel his gaze pierce her. “You make me want to believe that,” he said.
“Then do.” She stepped toward him.
“This is what I believe.” Lifting a finger, he ran the back of it over her cheek. “You are the most precious woman I’ve ever met. Brave, kind, caring, a good mother—so unlike my own.” His touch sent a prickling feeling down to her toes. What was wrong with her? His gaze dropped to her lips, and he swallowed. Was he thinking of kissing her? Her breath came fast. Her world began to spin. His scent of leather and earth swirled beneath her nose like a heady perfume. Then his lips met hers in a soft caress so at odds with the rough pirate. She knew she should stop him, but when he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, drinking her in like a desperate man, her knees reduced to mush, and she wilted against him.
A coyote howled in the distance, a cow lowed, and a breeze stirred the leaves on a nearby tree, but nothing seemed real to her except the man who held her so protectively. The kiss was sweet, deep, and went on far too long. Another second and she’d be lost to him forever.
She pushed away, stepped back, and turned her back to him. How could she have done such a thing? Was she some hussy to kiss a man she hardly knew? “Forgive me.”
She could hear his heavy breathing, his deep groan as if someone had stolen his last meal. “No need to be ashamed, Caroline,” he finally breathed out. “We are married, after all.”
“You are married to the sea, Señor Vega, not to me. And I insist you never touch me again.”
Chapter 6
With a hand to her aching back, Caroline stepped onto the veranda and drew in a deep breath. She’d spent the morning scrubbing floors and kneading bread and longed for a glimpse of her children. She knew they fared well. Their laughter had serenaded her during her chores, but now as she scanned the vineyard all she saw were clusters of nearly ripe grapes hanging from vines like plump plums from trees. From the taste and feel of the few grapes she’d sampled yesterday, it may only be another two weeks before Sisquoc and the crew could start harvesting the fruit—a late harvest this year due to their unusually cool summer. Of course, after they picked the grapes, the men would press them and then place the strained juice in jugs to ferment for days before transferring it to oak barrels in the cellar to cure for next year’s batch of wine. Good thing she already had a buyer for the wine from last year’s harvest. She’d been testing it and adding water to top it off just like her husband had instructed her, and hopefully, it would meet the standards of her buyer, a merchant who intended to sell it to another merchant in New York. Things were looking up, indeed.
To say this past month had been one of the happiest in her life seemed a betrayal to both herself and François. To her husband be
cause, even though she’d kept her distance from Dante, just having the pirate around—hearing his confident voice, watching him with her children, and exchanging pleasantries over their meals together—had made her far happier than she’d ever been in the intimacies of her marriage to François. And it was a betrayal to her own sentiments because she allowed them to grow for a man who would soon be gone.
Taking her heart—and she feared her children’s hearts—with him.
But how could she have held her heart at bay? How could she ask her children not to follow Dante around, not to speak with him, not to crawl into his lap and receive his embrace, when she’d give anything to be able to do that herself?
Dante stepped into view, carrying Abilene in one arm and an ax in the other hand. Philippe strutted by his side, chattering like a magpie. Caroline smiled. She couldn’t help but smile. Though they’d not shared a private moment since their kiss—she’d made sure of that—Dante had never faltered in his care of her and her children. He’d worked side by side with Sisquoc and the other men tending the grapes, he’d repaired a hole in the barn and cared for the chickens and the cow, he’d periodically rode along the perimeter of the property to ensure all was well, and he’d even assisted in hauling water from the creek. The Chumash foreman liked him, as did the other workers, and they readily obeyed his orders. He was a leader of men. A hard worker. Kindhearted. A good man. And a gentleman. Despite his occasional suggestive teasing and the desire in his eyes, he had not once pressed her for marital privileges.
He set Abilene down on the bench, stuck the ax in a stump, and pulled his shirt over his head. Noon sun gleamed on his bronze skin and rippled like sunlit waves over the muscles in his back and forearms. Philippe removed his shirt, too, tossed it aside just like Dante had done, and beamed up at the pirate with pride.
The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West Page 58