Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

  It was nearly noon, with the November sun pouting on the breast of a hazy sky. A good day for traveling far, James thought. The dog ran off into the creosote to investigate a scent.

  With such an easy trail ahead, James half turned in his saddle to take a long look at the girl riding side saddle behind him. Amparo gazed off toward the buttes to the north, a flat brimmed hat shading her eyes as she surveyed the broken prairie. Two thick black braids cuddled the black shawl she wore over a white blouse that was decorated around the scooped neckline with red embroidered flowers.

  I’ve come a long, crooked trail from where I started out to go, James thought. I should’ve had Uncle Jonathan’s fallen in tunnel half cleared by now. It would’ve been done if I’d ridden through Pueblo.

  The girl glanced up, and a smile lit her olive toned face. James caught his breath, felt a creeping flow of blood under his beard, and started easing back into his seat.

  “Glory, but she’s a fine lookin’ woman,” he muttered, and stole another glance over his shoulder. The fingers of his left hand twitched with remembrance of fine textures—the silk of her hair, the satin of her skin. His blush deepened.

  A high pitched squeal jolted him to reality at the same time he felt himself rising into the air and slipping out of the saddle as his horse reared. He grabbed for the horn, fought to regain his seat, but it was no use; the horse came down stiff legged, then bucked once, twice, and James was off the animal and onto the trail, discovering anew the subtle aches of his recent wounds.

  As he landed on his back he heard it behind him—the whirring warning of a rattlesnake in a creosote bush along the trail. He pulled his pistol from the holster at his thigh and cocked it as he rolled to his belly, eyes searching through the multitude of small oval leaves of the bush for the rattler’s coiled body. He spotted the head and snapped a shot. The snake died.

  The horse, once it was free of James, galloped wildly back the way they had come. The dog barked its way out of the creosote, following the horse in a vain attempt to turn it. The sorrel kicked out its heels, narrowly missed the dog, and fled. The dog followed, yapping.

  Amparo dismounted and ran to kneel at James’s side. “¡Señor, oh señor! ¿Estás herido?” she asked, starting to check his limbs.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” James snapped at her, gathering his legs beneath him and subduing her hands in his. He got to his feet, helped the girl up, and kicked the snake’s body away from the road. He loosed Amparo’s hands and looked around for his hat. She kept up a steady barrage of questions, and he tried to shush her with a wave of his hand as he bent to retrieve his headgear.

  “Where’d that ill-bred horse go?” All that remained of the animal was a cloud of yellow dust hanging in the air above the back trail. James threw down his hat, yelped at the sharp twinges the action brought, then turned back to Amparo, who crooned her concern.

  “You stop that cooing, girl. It makes me nervy as a cat caught with cream on its whiskers. Damnation! Oh, I mean—I’m sorry, Miss Amparo. Excuse my foul tongue.”

  Amparo handed him the hat. He took it with a sigh and a grunted “thanks,” and banged it against his thigh to get the dust off.

  “Well, miss, I’m in need of your gentle horse. The mules ain’t broke for riding. Besides, I’m having about as much luck riding a skittish animal as a blind sparrow has flyin’. If it gets out that I can’t stick on a horse, my reputation will be shot full of holes. I’ll never get another job breaking horses.”

  As he spoke, he put his hat on his head, adjusted it, then stalked over to the mules and stripped off their packsaddles. He hobbled the animals and turned them out beside the trail. Then he approached the black mare and loosened the girth straps. “Can’t you just see me ridin’ sideways?” he said, grinning wryly as he heaved the saddle from the horse’s back and placed it beside the trail.

  “You’ll have to stay here alone,” he told the girl. “I’m sorry the dog ran off. He would have been company, and protection, besides.” He squinted at the far landscape, then looked back at Amparo. “Well, you might as well start some comida while you wait. I don’t expect to be gone long, but it’ll be something to do.”

  “Está bien,” she replied.

  James disassembled one of the mule packs and got into his war bag. He brought an object over to Amparo, and knelt beside her where she was pulling foodstuffs out of a sack.

  “I’ll leave you this pistol. See, you pull back the hammer like this, then squeeze the trigger. Use two hands to hold it out in front of you to aim.” He showed her. “I’m afraid I can’t leave the rifle.” He uncocked the gun and put it in her hands. “The horse carried it off.”

  “Rye full?” Amparo looked puzzled, then laughed. “Oh. Rifle.” She pronounced the word “ree flay.”

  “What’s so funny, girl? I don’t favor leaving you by your lonesome. Well, I can’t sit here jawing. Be careful.”

  James boosted himself onto the black, clucked it into motion, and headed down the back trail.

  ~~~

  Holy Mother, help him find the horse quickly, Amparo pleaded silently as James rode away. She laid the pistol beside the foodstuffs and straightened up, then gathered creosote twigs from the ground around the area and built a small fire, which smoked and gave off a thick odor. She blinked back tears as the smoke billowed toward her, filling her eyes. She gathered her goods and moved to the other side of the fire. Once things were arranged to her satisfaction, she set to work mixing cornmeal, a bit of lard, and water to make tortillas. When the dough reached the consistency she desired, she pinched off a glob of it and began to flatten it between her hands. The circle grew larger as the corn cake got thinner. When it was the right size, she laid it in the bottom of James’ skillet, which she had placed on the rocks beside the fire to heat.

  While the tortilla baked on the hot iron, Amparo started forming a second one. Before she finished flattening it, she tweaked the tortilla in the skillet onto its other side with her fingers. Soon she had a stack of tortillas wrapped in a white cloth, waiting for James to return with the horse.

  The girl moved again to avoid the smoke from the fire. As she did so, she caught sight of the pistol lying beside the sack of cornmeal. Amparo reached over, picked up the heavy gun, and looked at it.

  Santa María, it is so weighty. How can a man wear a weapon such as this strapped to his leg all the day? Yet the Anglo carries his pistol with such ease, as though it were a part of him.

  Amparo placed the gun on the earth and sighed. Holy Mother, there is a difficulty. I vowed to give myself freely to the stranger who took me in marriage. While Señor Owen is not the same stranger I had expected, yet I have fulfilled my pledge. But, My Lady of the Conquest, he has somehow found me wanting. The girl bit her lip. He rejects me, Blessed Virgin. For so many days he has not come to my bed. I had thought....

  Amparo stirred the embers of the dying fire and looked down the back trail. The dust James had raised had long since settled, and there was no sign of his return.

  There was a night...the first night, Holy Mary, when I thought he was pleased with me. After...after I became his wife, he held me tenderly, he kissed me in many places, and I felt almost as though my dear papá had returned to protect me with his love.

  Amparo covered her face with her hands. No. The emotion I felt in my heart was nearly the same, but the action was very different. The embrace of a father is nothing like lying in the arms of a husband. Oh My Lady, I have lost that! What did I do wrong?

  A sound in the brush brought Amparo to her feet, clutching the pistol. Her heart thumped against her chest as she peered into the bushes. After a moment a small furry animal scuttled from under a branch and hurried to another patch of shade.

  “¡Ay de mi!” Amparo exclaimed, and sank to the ground beside the pile of tortillas. As her breathing returned to normal, she remembered how the Anglo had stirred in his sleep, how he had called a woman’s name, then sighed in the darkness.

  The girl
took a short, sharp breath. Did I take her place, for one night? Did this bring him shame? Holy Mother of God! Strive with him! I want the Anglo to touch me—Amparo—with gentle fingers, and know that it is I whom he strokes. Cannot this be?

  A drumming noise filled the girl’s head, and she thought her heart pounded heavily again, but the sound grew louder, and she looked up.

  James, astride the sorrel and leading the black, rode toward her on the trail from Leones. Amparo sprang up.

  “¡Eres tú!” she cried. “Gracias a los cielos, eres tú.”

  Pulling the horse to a halt, James grinned down at the girl.

  “Don’t be waving the pistol at me that a way, Miss Amparo. I’ll figure you ain’t pleased to see me.”

  ~~~

  James and Amparo rode south and east through a barren land broken by buttes and gullies, skirting the twin Spanish Peaks that rose out of the country below the Cuchara River. James hunted small game to stretch out their beans and tortillas, but he pushed along as fast as he figured Amparo could travel. Hitting deep snow in Ratón Pass still worried him, especially since the girl didn’t seem to have much but her black shawl to fend off the wind. At night when the wind blew, her lips took on a bluish cast whenever she worked away from the fire. Without proper clothing, he knew Amparo would never survive a winter storm.

  One evening, James sat on his saddle by the side of the fire after supper with one of his quilts and a needle full of thread in his hands. He tucked up a corner of the quilt and jabbed the needle into the cloth, bringing it in and out with the thread following until he had a rough head covering made from the corner. Amparo had been cleaning up the dishes, but now she took notice of his labors and came around the fire to him.

  “¿Qué es esta cosa?” she asked, wide eyes reflecting disbelief that a man could do needlework.

  It wasn’t fine needlework. The sewing project was crude looking and ugly, but James hoped it would serve the purpose for which he had started it.

  “I’m making you a cloak,” he said, and motioned for Amparo to put it over her head. She got it on, and James adjusted some of the stitches he had left loose. Then he used his knife to slash two holes for her arms to come through, and marked places for ties to close the front.

  Amparo giggled, and James looked up at the sound. The dog wandered into the firelight from the direction of the horses, saw Amparo, set his feet, and started barking. The girl held her sides and laughed aloud.

  “What’s so funny, mujer?”

  “Esta capa es tan fea,” she said, covering her eyes with one hand and making a face. She then slipped the cape off. “Déjame acabarla,” she added, putting out her palm for the needle.

  James said, “I know it ain’t much for looks, but it should keep you warm.” Then he gave the needle to her with a wry look. “You want to finish the job, I reckon.”

  Amparo smiled and started making tiny stitches, binding the edges of the armholes to keep the stuffing inside. When she finished, the cloak looked much more serviceable, and James grinned at her.

  “You’re a better seamstress than me. I only learned to do patching in the army.”

  Amparo’s lips weren’t blue anymore after she started wearing the homemade cloak, and James’s mind was relieved on one score. However, he was short a bed covering now.

  That night he tried to wrap up in the quilt he had left, but he shivered so much that he woke up—stone cold—in the middle of the night. He got out of bed, tied the quilt around his neck to leave his arms free, hunkered down next to the embers of the fire, and got a blaze built up so that it would warm his chilled body.

  The fire must have cast too much light, for Amparo stirred, then sat up and looked around. “¿Qué pasa?” she asked.

  That means ‘what’s going on,’ James remembered Tom had told him. “I reckon it’s a cold night,” he replied, shrinking into the quilt so she could not see his long underwear.

  She gave him a look like he was a helpless child, and sighed. “Señor Owen, ven aquí.”

  James tossed another stick into the fire, not knowing what she meant to say. Then she crooked her finger at him and patted her bed.

  He took a deep breath. “No, girl,” he said. “I can’t do that.”

  “No seas estúpido,” she said.

  ‘Estupido’ sounded so much like ‘stupid’ that James stiffened, and gave Amparo a hard look. “I made one bad mistake, girl, but I’m not going to repeat it.” Then he sighed and softened a bit. “Don’t you tempt me, now.” As he gazed at her, he realized that the look on her face wasn’t a bit tempting. In fact, she stared back at him with a cold air that seemed more like contempt for his stubbornness.

  Amparo gave a short sigh and said, “Señor, tienes frío. Ven aquí o yo tendré que ir allá.” As she spoke, her hand motions made it clear to him that she intended to join him if he didn’t go to her side of the fire, and when he didn’t take the hint fast enough, she started to get up.

  “Whoa, hold on!” he said, putting up both hands. “That ain’t needed. Sit tight.” He got up, with the quilt folded around himself, and groped for his trousers.

  Amparo made a little click of scorn with her tongue. Then she grinned at his discomfort. “¡Qué niño!” she said.

  James knew ‘niño’ meant ‘child’. With his face flushing red, he started to stand erect, an angry retort on his lips. Then it occurred to him that if Amparo thought he was such a baby, nothing was likely to happen between them.

  “All right. I’m coming,” he said, turning away to button his trousers.

  Amparo giggled. James sighed again, then grinned and went around the fire.

  “Women!” he said, and slid cautiously under the covers beside her. She snuggled her back against his chest and curled into a ball, radiating heat. James lay stiff and straight, his muscles tensed. But soon, his limbs relaxed in the warmth from her body, and before long he fell asleep.

  ~~~

  It was late afternoon when James and Amparo neared Trinidad, one of the towns along the trail to Santa Fe. They crossed the Purgatory River beneath the looming height of stair stepped, flat topped Fisher’s Peak, then pulled their horses to a stop on Main Street in front of a store.

  Amparo craned her neck to one side to look down the street, then to the other side, and glanced back the way they had come. “Aquí estamos,” she said.

  James shrugged his shoulders at her words. “This is Trinidad. I hope the storekeeper has a good warm blanket he’ll sell me cheap.”

  After he got down and tied the horses and mules to a rail set into posts, he put up his arms to help Amparo to dismount.

  Behind him he heard a loud cackle, followed by a rude laugh. Then a slurred voice called out, “Looky here. A new boy in town. And he’s brought his own fancy girl.”

  James’s back stiffened as his body tensed, but he tried to keep his face clear so Amparo wouldn’t see there was a problem.

  “A dirty Mexican, at that,” rasped a second voice. “Hey girlie, guess what I got for you.” The voices joined in ugly laughter.

  James lowered Amparo to the ground. One part of his mind appreciated the lightness of her body, the swirl of her cape as her feet touched the street. Another part thought, I’m not minded to pick a fight today, but when a man takes on a duty, he has to protect his stewardship. He turned to face the challenge, keeping the girl behind him and to his left side as his right hand dangled handy to the gun he wore in his holster.

  Two men sat on barrels in front of the store, sharing a bottle of whiskey. They kept up their nasty talk, laughing and pointing at James and Amparo.

  “Excuse me, gents,” James began. His voice sounded mild in his ears, but he didn’t feel mild. He felt mean—mean and ruffled—for these men had said some harsh things about the girl at his side. “I like a good joke, but I reckon I missed yours. Tell it again so I can join the merriment.”

  “He can talk.” One man nudged the other. The two held their sides, laughing fit to bust a gut an
d rocking from side to side.

  “That’s a mighty fine greaser gal you got there,” the second man hooted. “She belong just to you, or do we get a sample?”

  As the man talked, Amparo caught a quick breath. She must have heard the word `greaser’ before, James thought. Her sandal slid in the gravel as she backed up a step.

  James took one step forward. “She’s a lady,” he said with a brittle edge on his voice.

  “Yeah. Sure she is,” the first man said, leering and winking at Amparo. “Ain’t you gonna share her?” He took a pull from the whiskey bottle.

  “We’ll be glad to pay you,” the second man said, then he fished a coin from his pocket and tossed it at James’s feet.

  The bright circle plumped into the dust, and James stared at it, feeling the nerves pinging in his tight jaw. He had to concentrate to keep his hand from pulling the gun.

  “She’s my wife,” James declared. He heard his words echoing off the front of the building back to him. They had a ring like a fine and shining quarter thrown on a marble countertop.

  “The devil you say,” the first man sneered, then giggled.

  “No white man needs to marry a Mexican,” tittered the second. “Not when he can get it free.” He collapsed from the barrel to the ground. The first man bent over to raise up his friend, and fell in a heap atop him.

  The trouble was over. These men are harmless enough, James reflected, although their words bit deep into his soul. He kicked the coin aside, took Amparo’s hand, and stepped past the men into the store.

  “Malditos. Bad mans,” she whispered, and her hand shook in his.

  When he looked at her to see if she was frightened, the angry set of her chin and the fire in her eyes cleared up his worry. His chest expanded as he drew in a breath of relief mixed with pride.

  “That’s a girl. They’re only drunks.” James smiled and watched the corners of Amparo’s mouth inch upward, then he squeezed her hand and led her deeper into the store.