Love a Dark Rider

by Shirlee Busbee

  tried to escape. He was an incredibly light sleeper and he was confident that she couldn't make the slightest move without waking him. As for her escaping—his horses were trained to obey only his commands, a necessary precaution when one lived as he had amidst Indians who were famous horse thieves. As a further precaution, he'd hidden her boots! Even if she did manage to slip away from him as he slept, without a horse and barefoot, she wasn't going to get far. Smiling at his own cleverness, he fell asleep.

  11

  The next morning, Yancy wasn't smiling, nor was he feehng particularly clever. He had slept well and nothing untoward had occurred—^Sara was still sleeping deeply at his side when he woke at first light—but despite a restful night, Yancy was irritatingly aware that none of his problems had been resolved. Sara was still the dilemma she had been before he'd gone to sleep, and the chilly shoulder she gave him as their long trek continued did not abate one jot!

  The journey to del Sol was not something that Sara ever looked back on with any pleasure. They spoke only when necessary, both of them keeping the communication between them to a bare minimum. The journey was not particularly dangerous or arduous, although Yancy did keep them in the saddle for long hours, but Sara welcomed it—at least the passing scenery afforded some view other than the abominable sight of her arrogant, overbearing, wretched abductor! At first Sara remained totally aloof when Yancy would set about making camp for them, but eventually her conscience pricked her, though why it should she couldn't guess, and she began to take a more active role in the day-to-day chores. By the time they had been on the trail for ten days, they had worked out a system between them and could make a comfortable camp in a matter of minutes.

  Despite the animosity that fairly shimmered in the air between them, it was not a time that was completely Mwpleasant. The countryside they rode through had an almost tropical lushness to it that delighted the eye and beguiled the senses, and after the first several days, as she became more used to her horse and saddle, Sara found that she thoroughly enjoyed riding. She was free of the cares and demands that had rested for too long on her young, slender shoulders at Magnolia Grove, and even with all the difficulties that lay before her, Sara's spirits rose with every mile that passed. She was strangely eager to see del Sol and the chaparral and brush country that surrounded it.

  After the long hours in the saddle, she looked forward to camp each evening, and since there was little to distract her, she spent most of the time musing at the queemess of fate before retiring to her rough bed upon the ground. Often, after a hasty meal of com bread, which was baked in the hot ashes of the campfire, and a savory stew of whatever game Yancy had killed, Sara was reminded of similar nights with her father. Happy memories would flood her and she would smile to herself, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. Sometimes, though, sipping her hot coffee, she would stare at the leaping red-and-gold flames, wondering about the life she might have had if Matthew had not gambled away Mockingbird Hill—or if he had not been so foolish as to get himself killed. She would give herself a shake, not willing to dwell on the not-so-pleasant past.

  As they continued to ride, the terrain and vegetation changed gradually, the land becoming drier and less overpoweringly tropical, the tall, stately trees, rampant vines and profusely blooming wildflowers slowly disappearing. The soil was no longer the fertile bottomland so prized by the planters and the country became more open, the horizon extending endlessly before them. The

  days were hotter, too, less humid the farther inland they rode, but Sara grew used to the blistering heat of the hot yellow sun.

  By mid-May they had reached the vast rolling prairies, riding through grasses that were waist-high and past patches of thorny acacia, tall prickly pear and mesquite. Near the creeks and streams, the growth was luxurious, cottonwoods and black willows crowding next to one another, and Sara was astonished by the incredible variety of wildlife they saw. Vast herds of mustangs and long-homed cattle roamed everywhere, yet the country was also full of rabbits, turkeys, quail, deer and antelope. At night they were serenaded by the mournful howls of the coyotes and big lobo wolves, the frightening scream of the occasional panther making itself heard now and then.

  Sara had kept the conversation to a minimum between them, but one night after they had eaten, curiosity getting the better of her, she asked suddenly, "How much farther is it to the rancho?"

  Yancy smiled. "You've been on it the past two days." Ignoring her openmouthed amazement, he went on smoothly. "I reckon we'll sleep in real beds tomorrow night."

  Despite all the reasons why she shouldn't be, Sara was eager and intensely curious to finally see del Sol. It was late afternoon the next day when they topped a small rise and she caught sight of a black dot in the distance, and her heart leaped. Glancing across at Yancy, she asked excitedly, "Is that it? Is that del Sol?"

  Yancy nodded slowly. "S^ that is my home." He paused, his amber-gold eyes resting for a long time on her lovely feamres, and Sara was aware of an odd air of cautiousness about him—almost, she thought in surprise, as if he were shy ... or uneasy about her reaction to del Sol. Just when the silence was becoming uncomfortable.

  he turned his gaze forward and said quietly, "I hope you will be happy here."

  He kicked his horse into movement, and as Sara's followed obediently behind, they began to ride toward the place that was at the moment only a mere dot on the horizon. Sara was introspective as they rode toward del Sol, her thoughts on Yancy's odd behavior. It took her a few minutes to guess the reason behind his inexplicably wary air— Margaretl

  Sara wasn't too surprised at Yancy's protective reserve. From everything that she had ever heard about Margaret's lone trip to del Sol, it was glaringly obvious that Margaret had plainly loathed the place! In fact, Margaret's open detestation of the very idea of living at del Sol was what had, supposedly, driven her into Sam's arms. It was only namral that Yancy would be a bit uneasy about Sara's reaction.

  A gentle smile curved her mouth. It shouldn't have, but somehow that almost shy air about him melted some of her resentment against him and his arrogant behavior.

  As they approached del Sol, Sara realized that the dot was actually a cluster of buildings, and with every mile they rode, it became apparent that Yancy's home was not just a house but an entire village. The site was breathtaking; the rolling prairies of rich grass, broken only by the trees and bushes which lined the streams and creeks, seemed to go on as far as the eye could see. Del Sol had been built on a slight rise, near one of the sparkling blue-groen streams, and as they rode closer, Sara marveled at the abundance of towering trees and abundant grass that grew in the area. Fanning outward from the hacienda— and there was no mistaking its stockade-like walls or its imposing size and height—were several far less grand structures, small jacales and bams, a gleaming white church and other squat adobe buildings. There were

  corrals and patches of cultivated ground, orange trees and grapes laid out in tidy areas, and in other places the bright green of newly planted com was unmistakable. As they rode between the buildings, chickens, pigs and goats, squawking, oinking and bleating, scattered in front of their horses.

  Sara's senses were vividly assaulted as she tried to absorb everything—the blinding white of the buildings, the scent of orange blossom in the air, the excited sounds of children and the herds of cattle and horses that grazed in the distance, their movements carefully monitored by swarthy-skinned riders on tough little mustang ponies. There was a narrow dusty trail which meandered through the area, leading to the hacienda with its thick, protective walls glistening as bright as new-fallen snow, and some of Sara's exhilaration with her surroundings faded. Del Sol was, after all, to be her prison.

  They had barely reached the first buildings before they were suddenly greeted exuberantly by a mob of dusky-skinned, half-naked, bashfully smiling children and dark-eyed, laughing women wearing shawls in brilliant colors of blue, scarlet and yellow and sombrero-clad men in loose, baggy white pants
. The warm afternoon air was filled with cries of delight. "Ah, Senor Yancy, you have returned to us!'' "It is El Patron! Hurry, hurry, El Patron is here!" "Senor! Senor Yancy, long have we waited for you!" "Oh, senor! It is good to have you back with us again!"

  Their progress was slow as Yancy stopped to talk with people. Small children were continually being eagerly introduced and held up and thrust forward for his inspection, and Sara was startled at the depth of respect and affection that was lavished on him. It was obvious that he was greatly loved and that these people looked upon him as very nearly a god. Sara snorted.

  No wonder he was such an overbearing, imperious devil!

  Eventually the small crowd fell behind them and Sara and Yancy rode through the huge, beaten-iron gates that guarded the entrance to the hacienda grounds. Sara had been halfway prepared for what she would find inside, but even so, she sat there staring spellbound at the inviting loveliness that lay before her.

  Another world, a world of graciousness and wealth, a world that would have been greatly familiar to an old-world Spanish grandee, had been created behind those massive eight-foot-high walls. The hacienda site encompassed nearly five acres, and where there were no buildings, from what Sara could see, it was composed of stretches of green lawns dotted with neat rows of orange and olive trees, and scattered in charming disarray were other shrubs and trees more native to the area. She spied a stream flowing gently through a far comer, but immediately in front of her was a flagstone courtyard, a magnificent three-tiered fountain bubbling with sweet, clear water in its center. Beyond the courtyard lay the stately hacienda. The two-storied, pale ocher building looked larger than it actually was. Wide, covered, blessedly cool walkways with gracefully arched openings and balconies with delicate iron grillwork surrounded the main structure. Purple bougainvillea draped itself attractively near one comer; a heavily scented pale pink rose climbed at the other and a jasmine-festooned portico jutted out into the courtyard. Sara was utterly enchanted.

  Here again, as it had been through the village, they were suddenly inundated by a crowd of excited, dark-eyed, dark-skinned Mexicans, their pleasure at Yancy's return obvious. It was several moments before Yancy could even dismount from his horse and a few moments after that before he turned to Sara. Aware of several discreetly speculative glances sent her way, Sara wondered

  just what Yancy would tell them about her; she understood a smattering of Spanish, as did most people who had lived in Texas for any time, but her command of the language was not great. When Yancy's hands tightened around her waist and he swung her gently from the saddle, she had no trouble picking out the word novia, however, from the swift stream of Spanish he spoke to the gathered crowd.

  There were unmistakable cries of gladness and voluble congratulations, and keeping a smile on her face, Sara hissed out of the comer of her mouth, "I am not your novia How could you tell them that I am your fiancee!*'

  Yancy drew her nearer to his side, and keeping one arm ruthlessly anchored around her waist and an easy smile on his mouth, he murmured, "But you are, sweetheart. Did you think that I would allow my children to be bom without my name?"

  Her smile faltered just a tiny bit, but her eyes sparked dangerous green fire, and she muttered, "I'm not pregnant—and I'm not about to be married for my broodmare capabilities!"

  Yancy's arm tightened almost painfully around her waist, and to the delight of the onlookers, he pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. Against her stinging lips he whispered, "Has it ever dawned on you, my prickly little dove, that I may not give a damn about your *broodmare capabilities'?"

  When Sara stared up at his dark face in astonishment, he laughed and kissed her again—much to the vociferous pleasure of the onlookers. Not giving Sara a chance to recover, Yancy began to introduce her to those gathered around them, explaining to her that these were the house servants and that many of them were descendants of the family retainers who had followed the first Alvarez from Spain into Mexico and then into Texas. Sara smiled and

  nodded, nodded and smiled and wondered if she would ever remember any of their names. Not that it mattered, she told herself stoutly; she wasn't going to be staying here long! She kept reminding herself grimly of that fact when, eventually, the group dispersed and a smiling, black-eyed beauty near her own age led her through the house and along a cool, shaded walkway at the rear to a spacious room in one of the wings of the sprawling building.

  As they walked, Sara had a glimpse of large, airy rooms, the cool tile floors broken here and there by richly hued rugs, the furnishings an elegant mix of the simple Mexican style and the darker, heavily carved fashion of the Spanish. She was enchanted to discover that at the rear of the house there was another courtyard, in the center of which was an almost exact duplicate of the three-tiered fountain in front. The hacienda was shaped like U, the three sides of the house enclosing the smaller courtyard, the covered, arched-opening walkways endowing it with a cozy, private feeling. Again there were bou-gainvillea vines and roses strewn along the iron-worked balconies of the upper floor, white jasmine twining here and there, and the heady scent of jasmine and damask roses mingled with the faint hint of orange blossom in the warm air.

  Under different circumstances, Sara would have thoroughly enjoyed herself, and as it was, she had to remind herself constantly that she was not here by her own choice—^this was no visitl The sight of the wide mosquito-netted bed had every bone in her body yearning to test its softness, and when the woman at her side said softly, "I speak some English—that is why Senor Yancy asked me to show you to your room and told me that I am to be your maid. He said that you were very tired from your journey and he thought that the senorita would enjoy a bath. Should I have one

  prepared for you?" Sara thought she would swoon with pleasure.

  Her delight obvious, Sara replied warmly, "Oh, I would like it above all things!" Smiling with disarming charm, she looked at the woman before her and admitted honestly, "I am afraid that I do not remember your name."

  The woman chuckled and said, "I am not surprised! My name is Maria Qiavez. I am married to Senor Yancy's head vaquero and my madre is the housekeeper, Dolores Fernandez, and my padre is Juan, El Patron's bookkeeper. You met them just a few minutes ago, except for Esteban, my husband."

  Sara shook her head. "Fm sorry, but I don't remember them at all!"

  Maria smiled. "Do not worry, senorita, you will have all your life to learn our names and know our families. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall see about your bath."

  It was only after Maria had left that it occurred to Sara that she had not corrected Maria's "senorita," and she wondered if Yancy had mentioned the fact that she was his father's widow. Somehow she rather doubted it!

  The bath was wonderful, everything she had dreamed it would be, and after all the weeks of hasty morning scrubs in cool streams and creeks, it was bliss to relax in the warm, jasmine-scented water and to lather her entire body with a delicately perfumed soap and to wash her hair until it was so clean it squeaked.

  Maria had brought her a pitcher of sangria, and sipping the wine-and-fruit-juice punch, wearing nothing but a large white towel, completely relaxed from her bath, Sara allowed herself the luxury of trying out the bed. It was as soft as she had imagined, and she carefully set down her glass of sangria on a pine table near the huge bed and let her slender body slowly melt into the

  welcoming softness of the feather-filled mattress. For a moment all her troubles vanished and before she was aware of it, she drifted off into a deep sleep.

  Dusk was falling when Yancy entered her room and found her still asleep. In the intervening time, he, too, had bathed and changed his travel-stained clothing, but there had been no rest for him—^the rancho had been in the capable hands of his staff all during the long years of the war, but there was a multitude of news and information that he needed to absorb. Only once, immediately after Lee had surrendered to Grant at Appomattox, had he been able to return to the rancho before now. That t
rip after the war had been lightning-swift—more to apprise his people that he was alive and well and that he would resign his commission and return to them permanently just as soon as it was possible. Listening to the reports of his men had taken him longer than he had planned, and he had learned that for all his eagerness to return, the affairs of the rancho could have gone on at the same placid pace indefinitely without his hand at the helm. But all that was going to change now.

  El Patron had finally returned, and he had plans for the future.

  Of which, he thought pensively as he stared down at Sara, not a few involved this mesmerizing little creature lying there so defenselessly in front of him. His expression was both jubilant and troubled as he continued to gaze at her slender form, his eyes lingering on the shapely legs revealed by the towel. What the devil was he going to do with her? A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Oh, he knew what he wanted to do with her—getting her to agree with his plans was the problem!

  It had been no ruse when he had introduced her to his people as his novia —long before they had reached del Sol, he had decided that he was going to marry Sara,

  no matter how much he mistrusted her or how much her avaricious tendencies disappointed and infuriated him. Even before he had set eyes on Sara again, he had decided that his own marriage was long overdue and that before the year was ended, he would have himself a bride. He had three logical, eminently practical reasons for this decision: he would be thirty-five years old next February, he owned a vast estate and was incredibly wealthy ... and he had no heir. It was time he gave some serious thought to the next generation, and unfortunately—at least he'd always considered it unfortunate in the past—legitimate heirs could not be begotten unless one had a wife.