Unhappily conscious of the fact that she was whipping herself into a rage against Brett, and for a petty reason at that, Sabrina determinedly focused her thoughts on more agreeable things. Like how Brett's presence had pleased her father, and how he had made her laugh at dinner. And then there was tomorrow, too, when they would show their visitor the ranch.
Suddenly feeling more charitable toward the situation, Sabrina snuggled down into her soft featherbed mattress. It was pleasant, she decided sleepily as she lay there, to see Senor Brett again, and unwilling to delve any deeper into her emotions, she left it at that. She would not think of his kiss, or the way her heart jumped when he smiled at her, or the way her blood skipped in her veins when he looked at her a certain way. . . . No. She would keep the peace between them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day was a fine one, warm and sunny without the debilitating humidity that would become more apparent as the days grew longer and hotter. Sabrina joined her father and Brett as they lingered over breakfast, discussing the possibility of growing sugar on the Rancho del Torres.
Surprised at the topic and the discovery that it was the reason behind Brett's visit, Sabrina listened intently as the two men talked, but she found her thoughts wandering down an unpleasant path. Why hadn't Alejandro mentioned the idea of growing sugar to her before now?
During the past few years, there hadn't been any major decision made concerning the ranch that Alejandro hadn't asked her opinion on first, and she was perplexed that he hadn't done so this time. She was not angry, not even piqued, but confused. She had always understood that one of the reasons Alejandro had solicited her views about the running of the ranch while she was still a child and had encouraged her less than womanly pursuits was that he had been training her for the day when she might have to run the ranch alone. She had grown used to being consulted about the disbursement of their fortune—the cattle they would sell, the horses they would buy, the crops they would grow—and yet now it was clear that without a word to her, Alejandro was embarking upon an ambitious scheme that would commit a large amount of their land, time, and money.
She glanced at her father, a slight frown marring her forehead. Why? Why had he been so . . .so secretive about the sugar project and Brett's impending arrival? It didn't make sense. Unless it was Brett's influence upon her father. . . .
Her frown deepened and she shot Brett an assessing look. This morning there was no sign of the previous day's bandit. His face was freshly shaved, his clothes were clean and unrumpled, but she couldn't quite shake the memory of that bearded, dangerous male who had confronted her yesterday. She had sensed an air of lawlessness about him. But now, completely oblivious of her, he was involved with explaining the cultivation of sugar to Alejandro, his handsome face relaxed, the green eyes lacking that disturbing cynical gleam.
Why was he here? she wondered again. Nacogdoches had nothing to offer him. Perhaps he had lost his fortune and was here to swindle her father? Knowing her thoughts were unworthy, she writhed with embarrassment that she had even considered such ideas.
Ashamed and just a little angry with herself, she set about being as charming and welcoming to their guest as possible. After a prolonged breakfast, the three of them wandered about the grounds near the hacienda, Sabrina on her very best behavior, and then later in the day, after siesta, they all walked down to the stables.
The del Torreses were noted breeders of both horses and bulls, and as the three of them ambled from one corral and stable to the next, there was much to hold Brett's interest. Unlike most ranches, Rancho del Torres had many facets; the fortune that Sabrina's grandfather had brought from Spain with him had allowed the family far more license to follow their own inclinations than was normal. Their wealth had grown since the first day Enrique del Torres had stepped forth in the New World. There were warehouses and wharves in New Orleans, a cotton plantation in upper Louisiana, silver mines and land in Mexico.
With almost unlimited wealth behind them, they lived a life very different from that of most of the settlers who came to the Americas—the majority of the Spanish settlers were only able to eke out a meager living in the untracked wilderness, but the del Torres family lived in baronial splendor. They were able to indulge their fancies, so it wasn't surprising that the del Torres ranch was meticulously maintained, or that their stables contained some of the finest imported Spanish brood mares and stallions to be found west of the Mississippi River. Most of the breeding stock for the bulls, too, had come originally from Spain to Mexico in Enrique's time, and looking with an experienced eye at the size, the breadth of shoulder, the powerful haunches, and the wicked horns on some of the huge black beasts, Brett decided that not even in Spain had he seen such magnificent animals.
Idly he asked, "Do you sell them just for breeding, or do any of them end up in the bull rings in Mexico City?"
Alejandro's face creased in a wide smile. "Would you believe, amigo, that last year I was able to sell several to a marquess in Madrid? It was, I think, the height of my ambition--del Torres bulls bred, born, and raised here in the province of Texas returning triumphant to the land of their ancestors. Ah, yes, but I was pleased. But to answer your question—most of them are used by breeders here in Texas to improve their own herds, although some are used locally in the bull ring."
Brett looked surprised. "Bull ring? Bullfights, here?" he asked, one eyebrow rising skeptically.
"Si ,here," Alejandro replied. A twinkle in his eyes, he added, "A Spaniard is a Spaniard no matter where he is, and where he is, you can be assured that there are bullfights. It is a passion with us! Shall I arrange one for you while you are our guest?"
Brett nodded his head, his gaze on some of the powerful beasts as they trotted and snorted in a huge corral nearly half a mile away from the horse stables. "I'd like that," he replied simply.
Like the del Torres fortune, the ranch was huge and far flung. It comprised nearly fifty thousand acres of almost tropical lushness, and it would have been impossible to view it in one day. The majority of the lands were still in virgin wilderness, and it was only near the hacienda and outbuildings that the civilizing hand of man was revealed. Most of the cattle and horses roamed freely throughout the seemingly endless acres of the ranch, numerous vaqueros keeping watch over them. Only the finest, the prize animals that were used to maintain the excellent standard of the del Torres herds, were kept in the corrals and paddocks that sprawled out some distance from the hacienda.
After days in the saddle, Brett found it a pleasure to stretch his long legs, the leisurely walk through the stables and barns just what he wanted. His arm was still in the sling, but he would have discarded it this morning if Bonita hadn't been so outraged at the notion. It still ached some, and as the hours passed and the ache became more pronounced, he decided wryly that she had been right—it was much too soon to lay the sling aside.
Sabrina noticed the faint look of pain about his mouth, and aware that it was probably caused by his wound—the wound she had given him—she asked with compunction, "Is your arm bothering you? Have we walked too far for you? Would you like us to return to the hacienda so that you can rest?"
If Brett had been on the point of flagging, nothing could have stiffened his spine more effectively than her contrite words. Pity, he thought sourly, he could do without, and to be viewed as an object of pity by the little devil who had given him the wound was at once amusing and annoying. He chose to be amused though, and, a crooked smile curving his mouth, he said, "Infant, I may be years older than you, but I am not in my dotage! My arm does ache a little, but it's nothing that you should bother your pretty little head over. Besides, you should be pleased—you meant to cut deep."
Sabrina's lips tightened. Well See if she ever offered him sympathy again! He could die for all she cared!
The day turned out to be one of mixed enjoyment for her. She found the conversation stimulating, and as she was nearly as knowledgeable about the ranch as Alejandro was, she frequen
tly took part in the discussions. Brett's infuriating attitude though, did nothing for her temper. Being mocked, teased, and treated as if she were a child, a brainless child, considerably lessened her enjoyment of the day. No one had ever treated her as he did. Even her father, in his most paternal moments, listened, if not always intently, at least interestedly, to what she had to say. Brett merely smiled indulgently as she spoke and then turned away to converse with her father about the very thing she had just explained!
But if she found Brett's attitude infuriating, she was also almost unbearably conscious of his tall form next to hers as they walked about the stables, of the way he smiled, of his deep, husky laugh and the attractive crinkles that formed near his eyes when he grinned. She was irritated with herself for being so very aware of him, and a dozen times during the day, she scolded herself, telling herself repeatedly that she was not seven years old! She was not to be charmed into a childish adoration as had happened in Natchez. Remember how that particular incident ended, she reminded herself sternly, the humiliating spanking Brett had given her suddenly vivid in her mind.
The following days sped quickly by as Brett and Ollie settled down in the gracious del Torres hacienda. Alejandro was an exemplary host, and his home was both luxurious and delightful. There was not even the barrier of language to make his guests feel uncomfortable—-Alejandro and Sabrina spoke excellent English, and Brett and Ollie had picked up the occasional Spanish phrase in their travels.
By the time the visitors had been at the ranch five days, Brett's wound had healed sufficiently for Bonita to decree that the sling was no longer needed. With a mocking gleam in his eyes and suspect meekness, Brett laid it aside.
Sabrina had grown so used to that scarlet sling that the morning he joined them for breakfast on the patio without it, she was startled.
"Your sling?" she inquired.
Brett grinned. Seating himself across from her, he helped himself to a warm tortilla, slathering it with butter and blackberry jam. Lightly he said, "Your guardian angel has decided that I don't need it any longer—thank God! I was afraid she was never going to let me be rid of it."
Alejandro, who was seated next to Sabrina, laughed. "You must make allowances for Bonita—she is a thwarted mother and cannot help but cluck over us all."
His mouth full of tortilla and jam, Brett rolled his eyes expressively and nodded his dark head energetically.
Instantly defensive, Sabrina said stiffly, "You should be grateful for her care—she is well known for her success with the ill."
Swallowing his mouthful, Brett retorted mockingly, "I am not, as you can see for yourself, ill. As I told you at the time, I've survived worse wounds."
Sabrina snorted and buried her nose in a cup of hot chocolate, wishing perversely that he didn't look so disgustingly vital as he sat across the table from her. Five days of his company had done nothing to resolve the turmoil within her. One moment she was drawn irresistibly to him, and the next she was certain that she had never met a more arrogant, condescending swine in her life!
Alejandro obviously had no such problems, and more and more Sabrina found herself pushed into the position of mere onlooker. It was with Brett that Alejandro discussed the day's events, Sabrina supposedly amusing herself with womanly tasks. It was Alejandro and Brett who rode out to inspect the possible sites for the sugar cane—Sabrina spent the day indoors writing out the invitations to the fiesta they were to give on Saturday to introduce Brett to their friends and relatives. Brett seemed to dominate all of Alejandro's waking hours, and while Sabrina could make excuses for her sudden rejection—they were men, they hadn't seen each other in a long time, Brett was their guest—she still couldn't help but feel forlorn and a little resentful. She could deal with Brett's intrusion into their lives; it was her exclusion she had trouble coming to grips with.
Alejandro was orchestrating his attempt at matchmaking badly. Not wishing to reveal his fond desire, or to appear to throw Brett and Sabrina into each other's arms, he did the exact opposite. Unconsciously he kept them apart, inadvertently banishing Sabrina from her common routine and his company.
Alejandro was also taking much pleasure in the company of a man he would have been proud to call his son. He adored his daughter and he would no more have hurt her than he would have cut off his right arm, but he wouldn't have been human, or Spanish, if there hadn't been times when he dreamed of a son. As Sabrina had grown older, he had put aside such dreams, delighted with her quick intelligence and her boyish skills. But in Brett's very masculine company, Alejandro lost his head a little and the dreams came back. His current absorption in that young man was understandable, if excessive. Sabrina's growing resentment and bewilderment were also understandable, and Alejandro would have been utterly horrified if he had realized what he was accomplishing.
This morning began as a repeat of other mornings, Brett and Alejandro busily discussing the day's plans while Sabrina sat in silence. Gritting her teeth, she tried to stem her rising temper. It soon became apparent that she was again to be left to her own devices, presumably feminine ones, when the two men rode out to view various sites for the sugar mill.
Determined not to allow the situation to continue, when there was a brief halt in the conversation, Sabrina said firmly, "I'll come with you. If we are to go into the sugar business, I think I should begin to learn about it, too."
Alejandro looked at her, taking in the mulish slant of her chin. Dimly realizing how much she had been excluded of late, he smiled guiltily and said weakly, "But of course, chica. Your company is most welcome, and you are right—you should know what is planned." To her outrage, he glanced across to Brett, and almost as if seeking approval, he asked, "It is a good idea, don't you agree?"
Brett shrugged. "If you think she should come along, I have no objections." Rising to his feet, he added, "I'll walk down to the stables and see that her horse is saddled and brought along with ours. Shall we meet in front in half an hour?" Not expecting a reply, he glanced at Sabrina and asked lazily, "A half hour will be sufficient for you to make ready? Women are notorious for always being tardy."
Sabrina smiled tightly. "Some women."
Brett inclined his head mockingly. "As you say."
Her eyes smoldering, she watched as he sauntered out the back gate and disappeared. Not trusting herself to speak, she hastily took a gulp of her chocolate, and setting the cup back down in its saucer with a clatter, she said flatly, "I'll go change. I wouldn't want to keep the arrogant beast waiting!"
When she returned, barely fifteen minutes later, she was defiantly attired in the rust-colored calzoneras, and her glorious hair was subdued in a long, thick braid, just a few unruly tendrils curling near her temples and neck. There was a set expression on her usually merry face as she stalked toward the patio.
To her pleasure she found Carlos sitting at the table with her father. Her features softening, she said warmly, ''Buenos dias, Carlos! What brings you here this early in the day?"
Carlos smiled, his black eyes roaming appreciatively over her slender body. "I would like to say that it was your own lovely self," he began teasingly, then, his face and voice becoming somber, he said, "but unfortunately that is not true. As I've just told your father, the bandits have struck again, and this time, they've murdered their victims."
''No!" Sabrina cried, shocked. ''When did this happen? Who was murdered?"
Alejandro answered her. His face troubled, he said heavily, "Last night they attacked the Rios rancho and killed Senor and Senora Rios."
Sabrina's fist clenched, and she burst out angrily, "Curse these devils! Something must be done to stop them!"
Alejandro nodded his head, but it was Carlos who spoke. ''Si! It is time that we took action against them!" he stated grimly. "My father is inviting everyone to our hacienda tonight to discuss the problem."
They continued to speak of the outrage for a few minutes more, then Carlos rose to his feet. Regretfully he said, "I cannot stay longer. There are ot
hers who must be notified of tonight's meeting." Glancing at Sabrina he asked, "Walk with me to my horse?"
Eager to escape a possible reprimand from Alejandro for her clothing, she instantly agreed. Carlos had tied his horse behind the foliage-covered lattice, and upon reaching the animal, he commented lightly, "Your servant arrived yesterday with the invitation for the fiesta to welcome Senor Dangermond. We are looking forward to meeting this americano."
Sabrina made a polite reply, but Carlos knew her well, and there was a note in her voice that made him look at her keenly.
"Who is he?" he asked. "I didn't realize that your Tia Sofia had an adult son. Madre was most surprised when she read your invitation—his visit had not been mentioned previously."
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