by DiAnn Mills
Oh, he knew what he wanted—to never set her free, to keep her with him. He wanted to know her heart and to find a way to talk to her. Perhaps discover a paradise where they could live without want, without prejudice, without fear. Armando sighed. No place existed, except in the minds of dreamers and foolish men at best.
When did this happen? Armando rubbed his temples in an effort to stop the ache across his forehead. Sleep promised to deliver a respite, but not yet. He had to work through his obsession with Señor Phillips’s daughter. Although he knew the depth of his feelings went far beyond lust or power, he could not put words to his unsettling emotions. He, Armando Garcia, the man of logic, had fallen prey to the daughter of his enemy. Somewhere in the blue-gray depths of the señorita’s eyes, he had discovered a calming of his own restless spirit. Peace. Courage. Bliss. Strength. Odd, he didn’t know her name, but he’d called out to a woman like her in his dreams for as long as he could remember.
What happened to his strategic plans? What about the people of La Flor? And what about the vow he’d made on his madre’s grave? Did his commitments no longer hold meaning? He leaned back in his chair and recalled his mother and father’s relationship. The similarities between his parents’ tumultuous times and his staggering response to the señorita appeared ironic…even cruel.
His mother had lived among the people of La Flor. His father, Joseph de Garcia, the son of a Spanish nobleman, dwelled among the elite. When the elder Garcia had learned about the relationship, he forbade his son to see the peasant girl. The demands did not dissuade the young couple because she was to have a child. Armando carried his father’s name, although his parents never married. As a boy, he’d often wondered if his father had loved his mother or him. Joseph used to visit them in the village, and later he insisted Armando secure an education at the Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo.
In those days, Armando had desired to enter the priesthood and cling to the faith of the dedicated padres. He had embraced the Dios who loved him and the sacrificial death of Jesús. Then, when Armando reached sixteen years of age, his father disappeared. No one knew where or why. Within two years his madre died. He blamed Joseph Garcia—for breaking his madre’s heart. Armando left the mission and denied everything that represented Dios or Joseph Garcia. Later he learned his father had returned to Spain.
Armando pushed those old memories from his mind. They only served to depress him and fuel his hatred for those who were responsible. The years had hardened him against the Spanish and of late, the gringo, Weston Phillips.
Which was why tonight he despised his feelings for Señor Phillips’s daughter, the object of his confusion. Fate had cursed him as well, and he saw his wretched family history replayed as he sought the affections of a woman who could never love him because of his stature in life.
Armando’s heart wrenched when he relived those agonizing moments when he feared she might perish in the fire with Rico. He’d glanced up at the same time that she hurried into the burning hut.
In the darkness he shook his head, silently dispelling the horror of seeing her holding Rico surrounded by flames. Somehow he fought the blaze to pull them from the hut before the roof sank into the burning remains. She had no knowledge of her dress igniting in their escape or how he had shielded her hair from the hungry flames. If he still believed in Dios, he would attribute it to divine intervention.
Rising from the chair, Armando made his way to his pallet. The steady rhythm of rain continued outside. Tonight, everyone had been drenched, but no one had dared to leave until the last flicker died. He remembered the sight of his bedraggled señorita, her clothes clinging to her in shreds. One of the young women had presented her with a skirt, another with a blouse. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The tawny-haired señorita had wept at their gifts.
Armando now realized that most of the villagers did not desire their cautivo killed. Yet neither did they want to lose their homes. Who could find a solution?
He eased his tired body onto his pallet and under a blanket. As exhausted as he felt, he knew sleep would continue to elude him tonight.
A rooster crowed, then another, and Marianne stirred from her slumber, but she soon drifted back to sleep. Later, as sunlight filtered through the doorway, she opened her eyes. Voices hummed around her. For a moment she thought she’d spent the evening with Juan and Carmita.
“The señorita wakens,” Rosa whispered. “She will be hungry.”
“Your tone is much kinder to her this morning.” Manuel laughed.
Rosa scowled at her husband. “She is different from Señor Phillips. She is like one of us.”
“I agree, Rosa, and I feel sorry for Armando. He has a serious decision to make about her future and the future of our people.”
The old woman sighed and silence filled the hut. “I believe life is more important than land.”
“But what is life if one does not have a home or a place to plant a garden?”
Marianne swallowed against a raw throat. Manuel spoke the truth. Nothing had really changed.
Chapter 9
The morning dragged on with no sign of Armando. Marianne assumed he was making preparations with his men to depart later in the day. She dreaded his return. The thought of riding to the secluded campsite and waiting for word from her father was futile. At least here in La Flor, she could distance herself from reality.
Had it been only three days since the kidnapping? It seemed like much longer since Felipe had snatched her from the security of her father’s home. She felt old before her time. And so confused.
While she helped Rosa grind corn for flour, Marianne allowed her thoughts to drift back to the evening before—the fire and Rico. The pungent smell of smoke still clung about her, nesting in her nostrils and irritating her chest.
Some aspects of the night were best forgotten, especially the way Armando had treated her. After he’d saved her and Rico from the raging fire, he’d behaved as though she were one of his people. His comforting words and tender embrace had eased her hysteria.
Her own response to Armando also unsettled her. She’d allowed him to calm her, and she’d even relaxed in his touch. She felt like a fool, deceived and judged by her own emotions. This man will kill you for his people.
The morning moved to afternoon, and Marianne continued to busy herself with Rosa, assisting her in chores and shaping dough into tortillas. Bold sunlight streamed through the doorway and coaxed her to venture outside, but she feared alarming the old woman or agitating Armando. She rubbed her wrists where the ropes had chafed the skin raw. The painful reminder halted any ideas of stepping from the hut.
Rosa chattered on as though Marianne understood every word, and Marianne fought the urge to reply. But she knew the danger in revealing her knowledge of Spanish. So far, Armando had heard nothing from her family. Although he’d given Papa five days to act upon his demands, Marianne feared a surge of anger or panic from Armando’s men could bring about a hasty reaction.
Yet she couldn’t deny that a twinge of hope nudged at her. Could her rescue of Rico have moved Armando to reconsider her fate?
Armando leaned against the corral gate, his worries consuming him. He had worked since sunrise alongside the villagers repairing the four homes destroyed by fire, but now everyone had taken time for water and a moment’s rest. Two of his men had families living in those huts. Naturally, they wanted to stay in the valley until they’d completed the work on their homes. One more item to complicate his weary mind.
“The men are ready,” Emilio called from behind him.
With the chaos twisting inside Armando’s head about the señorita and his commitment to his people, he could not face his friend. Instead he fixed his sights on the horses, wondering if he dare reveal the secrets of his heart.
Emilio rested his arms on the gate. “Mi amigo, I see you are troubled.”
Armando slowly nodded. “The men will not like what I have to say. Although I have no choice. Perhaps they need a new leader.
”
“No, Armando, you are the one we follow.” Emilio pushed back his sombrero and turned toward Armando. “Let them hear you first. They want your guidance through the dispute with Señor Phillips. Felipe may arouse their anger, but you arouse their faith in God.”
The sincerity in Emilio’s dark eyes spoke of his devotion. “You have known me a long time, and you’re closer to me than a brother. How can I explain the circumstances that make me feel like a traitor to our cause?”
“Is this matter so grave that you can’t discuss it with me?”
Armando’s grayish-brown gelding nuzzled his hands. He stroked the horse’s neck. “I can not put it into words.”
Emilio pulled a piece of brush from the horse’s mane. “A man’s emotions are a difficult thing.”
Armando sighed and studied him. “You know, don’t you?”
“Si.” He laid his hand on Armando’s shoulder. “I sensed it from the beginning.”
“When? How could you know?”
Emilio gave him a wry smile. “When Felipe pulled her from her horse and she stood before you with no fear. I saw respect in your eyes. And later when you learned she alone could control Diablo, I saw admiration. When she tried to pull Rico from the fire, I saw your passion. There, I said to myself, is a señorita who can tame Armando.”
“How can a man find his beliefs and values changed in so short a time?”
“Dios does not care about time,” Emilio said. “He holds our days in the palm of His hand.”
“I gave up on Dios years ago. You know that.”
“But perhaps Dios hasn’t cast you from His graces. I remember when the joy of serving Him shone in your face.”
Veering his attention back to the corral, Armando contemplated his friend’s words. “The man you knew then doesn’t exist any more.”
“Oh, but he does.” Emilio’s words flowed with more power than a gifted teacher. “Sometimes I think your greatest struggle is within yourself.”
Armando chuckled. Oh, the truth stung. “You know me too well, Emilio.”
“I pray for you every day. Come, I will stand with you while you talk to the others.”
“Your loyalty is more than I deserve.” The two ambled toward a gnarled oak outside of the village. “I don’t even know her name,” Armando said. “Neither do I have the words to explain my decision to the others.”
“Remember your first love? He will give you the words.”
As much as Armando treasured Emilio’s friendship, the talk of Dios bristled him. A man should choose his own destiny.
Beneath the shade of overhanging branches, Armando glanced from one familiar face to another in his trustworthy band. They looked tired, worn from fighting the preceding night’s fire and taking charge of the reconstruction this morning. A tired man often possessed a short temper.
He began by praising them for their devotion to friends, families, and to the cause of securing their valley. Today they planned to return to the campsite. Some of the men were to remain behind to guard the village and help rebuild the homes, while the others joined Armando.
“I have given much thought to our original plan,” he said. “And I have a confession to make.” Armando took a deep breath. “We all want to keep our valley, even if it means giving of our lives. And we are all desperate men, for we are standing on our future. The night of the kidnapping, I felt it was wrong to put an innocent woman in danger. We are honorable men who do not need to resort to desperate means.”
He hesitated, then willed the words from his troubled mind. “After the fire last night and witnessing how the señorita saved little Rico’s life, I cannot hold her any longer. I must make this choice. To me, killing her makes me…us…no better than her father. We are not murderers, but farmers and ranchers who desire to live in peace. I have decided to let her go.”
“What about our valley?” Felipe rose to his feet, his fists clenched. His quick temper had challenged Armando many times before.
“I do not want her to be killed.” Pepe Sanchez spoke up, a short man with a round stomach and a boyish face. “If not for the señorita’s bravery, mi hijo would be dead. I have already lost his madre, and I cannot bear the thought of losing Rico. If need be, I will take him to the mission.” He glanced about him as though he dared the men to defy his position.
A burst of grumbling arose and divided the men. Finally, Emilio raised his hands for their attention. “All of you know I believe Dios will guide us in the right paths. In the beginning, I didn’t agree with Armando and his methods of keeping the valley, but I supported him. I can do no less now. Murder is wrong, no matter what the reason, and I beg our Holy Dios to forgive me for my part in the kidnapping. I suggest two things: first, we return the señorita, and second, a few of us visit the padres at one of the missions and tell them of our difficulties.”
“The gringo will not listen to a padre.” Felipe stepped to face Emilio.
“I agree.” Confidence edged Emilio’s words. “But the Spanish will listen to a padre.”
“I’ll go to the Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo before being a part of a murder,” Pepe said. “Dios heard our prayers last night and saved my son and brought the rain. He will not abandon us.”
Three more men volunteered to accompany him.
“Armando.” Pepe stood and faced the men. “Will you lead us to the mission and speak in our behalf to the padres?”
Armando swallowed his surge of emotion. Never had he imagined this loyalty. “My faith is not as strong as yours.”
“But you are our leader, and we need a man to represent us,” Pepe said. “And you are familiar with the padres.”
A hush fell over the band as Armando deliberated the request. He glanced at Emilio, who nodded. “Si, I will go,” Armando replied. “I cannot promise the padres will help us, but I will try.”
The burden of the responsibility before Armando left him uneasy. At the missions, the demons of his past would surely ensnare him.
Marianne continued to help Rosa prepare the day’s meal. She wondered about Armando, and the old churning fear in the pit of her stomach rose to her throat and threatened to make her ill.
Rosa, too, watched the door. Manuel had been gone since early morning to help with the rebuilding. Neither man had returned to the hut.
When the tantalizing smells of meat, peppers, and corn rose from the cooking pot, Manuel returned and soon afterward, Armando appeared in the doorway. He avoided Marianne’s stare and appeared sullen and preoccupied.
“I must leave today,” he said as they sat down at the table. He motioned for Marianne to join them.
Manuel asked Dios to bless the food and then he and Rosa crossed themselves. So did Armando.
“When will you be back?” Manuel took a warm tortilla from Rosa.
“I’m not sure,” Armando said and concentrated on his food. “Possibly late tonight or in the morning.”
Manuel raised a questioning brow, but said nothing. Marianne’s heart beat so fiercely that she feared the others could hear. This had to mean her father had refused Armando’s demands. He would be rejoicing if his demands had been met. Could she be so despicable in her father’s eyes that he desired her dead?
Silence rested on the remainder of the meal. Unable to eat, Marianne prayed her suspicions were wrong. Oh God, give me the courage to endure whatever is about to happen. If this is the end, please have Carmita help Mama through this. And help Papa understand he needs You.
After the meal was completed, Armando left again. To Marianne, time stood still, and she wished the end would simply come.
Within the hour Armando entered the hut and disappeared behind the partition. He changed into vaqueros’ attire then stood in the doorway blocking the sun, his face crimped with worry lines.
“I am taking the señorita back to her hacienda.” Armando’s voice sounded distant or perhaps it was the meaning of his words.
Marianne bit her tongue to keep from weeping. She gl
anced away and blinked back the tears. Thank You, God. Thank You.
Rosa stared at him, her face a mixture of approval and saddened emotions. “I believe you’ve made the right choice.” She stood on her toes and hugged him. “We are not killers here, Armando. We just want to be left alone in our valley.”
Armando glanced down at her wrinkled face. “I do not know what will come of La Flor, but I can not harm the señorita.” He kissed Rosa’s cheek. “My tio already knows of my decision. We’ll speak more about this when I return.”
“Maybe you can rest then. You always look so tired and unhappy.” Rosa picked up the water bucket. She hesitated in the doorway and turned to give Armando one more tender look. “I want to see the boy who played at my feet, the one who dreamed of fine horses and carried a stick for a sword.”
“That boy is now a man. Those days are gone forever.”
Armando beckoned Marianne to follow him.
The truth. Armando needs to hear the truth. A soft whisper spoke to her heart as she smoothed her deep blue skirt and moved toward him. He reached for the door, and she stared at the top of his hand where the fire had burned and left an ugly blister. No one had bandaged or applied medicine from the aloe plant. As the latch slowly lifted, her gaze traveled upward to his muscle-laden arm, shoulder, neck, and on to his finely etched features. She remembered how tightly the man had held her last night and the comfort of his embrace. She hadn’t noticed before how perfect he kept his pencil-thin mustache or long sideburns. Trembling, she moistened her dry lips.
“If I were a man, I would beg you to let me stay,” she said in Spanish. “For your cause is noble, and I see the great love you have for your people.” Marianne hastily turned away and stepped into the sunshine. She dared not look into his eyes. With her heart pounding, she walked toward the corral.
Armando strode beside her, no doubt angry at her confession. They walked on in silence, and she tried to think of more pleasant things. Home with Mama, Juan, and Carmita. Her deliverance and the importance of God in her life.