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It was before dawn when they left the hacienda for Casa Paloma. Since Paloma was only a pleasant half day's ride from del Sol, and except for keeping an eye out for any stray Indians, Yancy had looked forward to a leisurely, intimate ride with his bride. The constraint between them, as well as Hyrum's sullen presence, put an end to whatever dalliance along the way Yancy might have considered.
Astride one of his favorite mounts, a stout dark bay, Yancy had watched in grim-faced silence as Sara had lithely mounted Locuela and Hyrum, riding a bald-faced sorrel, had fallen in alongside her. The friendly smile Hyrum flashed Sara made Yancy feel a strong urge to knock the other man out of his saddle, but muttering under his breath, he kicked his horse into motion and led them away from the hacienda. It was planned for Bartholomew and Tansy and a few other servants, along with Sara's personal items and extra supplies, to follow behind in a couple of hours.
Despite her best intentions not to take pleasure in anything that Yancy had planned, Sara couldn't help feeling a rising enthusiasm as they rode away from del Sol. Yancy kept the horses at an easy pace, and as the hacienda and the village gradually disappeared, her sense of adventure grew.
At first, the three of them rode in stiff silence, only the creak of leather and the muted thud of the horses' hooves breaking the vast quiet of predawn. Once the hacienda had been left behind, Yancy dropped back to bring his horse alongside Sara's mount, and though she ignored him, she was tinglingly aware of his glances in her direction.
The mournful cry of a wolf drifted on the cool air, distracting her, and instinctively her eyes met Yancy's steady gaze. As long as she lived she would never hear the howl of a wolf without remembering her terrible ordeal, which would have ended far more tragically if Yancy, her dark rider, had not appeared on the horizon. In spite of herself, as she stared into the shadowed depths of his eyes, Sara was suddenly aware of a breathlessness and a helpless yearning to feel his arms around her, his mouth against her lips. . . .
Furious with herself, she jerked her gaze from his and presented him with an icily lovely profile. His soft chuckle did nothing to make her feel more kindly toward him and determinedly she turned to Hyrum and said, "Well, Hyrum, it appears that we are at last going to Casa Paloma. Are you looking forward to it as much as I am?"
Hyrum gave her a twisted smile. "We had such plans, didn't we? Together, the two of us were going to turn an old, ruined rancho into a grand cattle ranch." He looked wistful. "I had such hopes that we would be partners in other ways, that things would be different, that you would ..." His voice trailed off and, aware of the thunderous black scowl on Yancy's face, he added hastily, "Uh, while this isn't quite the way I pictured us going to Paloma, I am very eager for my first sight of the place."
It had been a calculated gamble on Hyrum's part to remind Sara of their original plans, and considering that last, acrimonious exchange between them prior to her
marriage to Yancy, he wasn't certain how she—or her husband, for that matter—was going to receive his comment. But he'd had to take the risk; it was vital that he reestablish some sort of rapport with Sara, and recalling to mind happier times, times when he and Sara had been full of ideas for Paloma, didn't seem like such a bad start.
Sara could hardly believe that he had dared to refer to the past in such a way and she stiffened, staring at him in outraged disbelief. The image of him passionately kissing Ann Shelldrake flashed through her mind, and knowing that every tender emotion he had professed to feel for her had to have been an unscrupulous falsehood, she bit her tongue to keep from naming him the unprincipled cad she knew him to be. Her eyes were open now to his despicable deviousness and she wasn't about to be taken in by his ingratiating manners ever again! Hyrum was luckier than he could ever guess—only because she was bent on showing her unfeeling, arrogant, overbearing husband that he meant absolutely nothing to her did Hyrum avoid a blunt tongue-lashing.
She smiled mendaciously at him and said, "I'm glad you've discovered that it does no good to repine on the past and that whatever disappointments you may have suffered in regard to Paloma, you haven't allowed them to ruin your basic enthusiasm for the place." She sent her husband a dark look from underneath her long lashes. "Life is far too short for us to dwell on certain unpleasant aspects—especially those we cannot change!"
Through gritted teeth, Yancy growled, "Sweetheart, I think I should warn you that if this conversation doesn't change right now, you're going to have a lot more * unpleasant aspects' to dwell upon!"
Sara was gratified by Yancy's reaction, and as dawn gradually spread its pink-and-gold light over the purple horizon, at least one of the three riders was feeling
very satisfied. For a moment she considered turning the knife just a bit more, but a swift look at her husband's face convinced her that tweaking the tiger's tail, while a heady experience, could also be very dangerous!
Silence fell among the three of them for several miles, but when the darkness vanished and warm, golden sunlight covered the prairies, so did their moods seem to lighten, and eventually they began to converse among themselves. Yancy could be charming when he chose to be, and not wanting to stay in his wife's bad graces—or to give any advantages to Hyrum—he set himself out to be as utterly charming as he knew how. As the miles passed, he beguiled Sara with stories and information about the area, and particularly about Casa Paloma.
At first glance, the land seemed level and boundless, the nearly waist-high grass extending endlessly toward the horizon, broken here and there only by large stretches of almost impenetrable chaparral, mesquite trees and towering prickly-pear cactus. Sara was surprised by the several streams lined with cottonwood, locust and willow trees that they crossed, the horses splashing easily through the clear water. The longer they rode, the more aware she became of the gentle undulations that characterized the land, small gullies and draws that cut across its vast expanse and the gentle rises that broke the utter flamess of the terrain. Like much of this part of Texas, the area abounded with game—antelope, deer, quail and wild turkeys—and with countless numbers of wild long-homed cattle and fleet-footed mustangs that whirled away and raced for the horizon at the first sight of the riders.
Unconsciously basking in the warmth of her husband's attention, listening raptly to his tales of the early days of Spanish settlement in Texas while observing the sheer untamed beauty of the land, made the time fly for Sara and she was astonished when Yancy pulled his
horse to a stop and said softly, "There it is, sweetheart. Casa Paloma!"
In the distance, on a slight rise, a small cluster of buildings met Sara's eager gaze. This far away there wasn't much to discern, but as they rode nearer, her heart began to sink at the painfully obvious sad state of disrepair.
There were few resemblances between Casa Paloma and del Sol beyond both being situated along a winding, tree-lined stream and both being constructed of adobe. Like at del Sol, the main house was enclosed by stout walls, the slits for guns and rifles in the smooth surface of the walls reminding Sara forcibly that this was still a wild and fierce land. Comanches still raided and Texans still died in alarming numbers from Indian attacks.
More than a dozen or so small buildings crowded close to the walls which encompassed the hacienda, but there was such a desolate air about them, despite their newly thatched roofs, that Sara's dismay deepened. No well-tended patches of cultivated land and fruit trees greeted her here; Paloma was just a small, lonely spot scratched out from the vast prairies surrounding it, and while there were many encouraging signs that Yancy's people had been very busy in the short time they had been in residence, it was obvious that Paloma had been allowed to go to rack and ruin.
Cactus and mesquite had invaded the area, and though much of the thorny brush had been hastily cleared from near the houses and piled for burning, everywhere Sara looked she could see where more work desperately needed to be done—broken corrals and remnants of old bams and rotting sheds dotting the area. As t
hey rode through the usual assortment of squawking chickens and bleating goats which had accompanied Yancy's people to the site, she acknowledged bleakly that it would take a great deal of money, a fortune, to restore the place
to even part of its former productiveness. Certainly far more money than she possessed, and she smiled crookedly. Damn Yancy for being right again!
After they had ridden through the gates into the grounds of the hacienda, it was apparent to Sara that Casa Paloma had been an early settlement, the main house appearing far more like a fort than a house. Yancy's men and their families had worked hard to make the place presentable, and seeing the expectant looks on their faces as they jostled one another to press nearer to the senor and senora, Sara smiled warmly at them, her heavy mood vanishing. She told herself that she should be happy with the way things had turned out. After all, she reasoned rationally, if she had arrived at Paloma and found it in the depressing, dilapidated state it must have been in before Yancy's people had gone to work on it, wouldn't she have been completely crushed by the sheer enormity of her task? A task made doubly burdensome by the knowledge that if she failed, not only would she have been thrown penniless on the world, but every member of the entire household of Magnolia Grove would have had to bear the same perilous ftiture?
Sara shuddered at the picture that presented itself. Suddenly she felt very glad that she hadn't arrived here with nothing more than wild dreams and everything she owned in the world crammed into a wagon, and her smile became almost blinding in its warmth and beauty.
In the act of helping her dismount her horse, Yancy was stunned by the sheer loveliness of her smile, and his hands tightened around her slim waist. "You're not disappointed?" he asked huskily, allowing himself the pleasure of slowly sliding her slim body down the length of his.
Sara's breath caught when her eyes met his and she saw the naked desire in his gaze. Slowly she shook her head. "No," she answered softly. "I'm not disappointed."
Yancy became oblivious of everything but the woman in his arms. Unaware and uncaring of their audience, giving her every chance to escape, he gently drew her into his arms and kissed her.
It was the lighthearted cheers of the onlookers that brought Yancy and Sara abruptly back to the present. Recalling where they were and the intensely interested audience that watched them, Yancy reluctantly raised his lips from hers. A twisted smile on his handsome face, he murmured, "Welcome to Casa Paloma, mi esposa ... I hope you will be very happy here."
The next several moments were busy as greetings were exchanged and Yancy was informed of the progress of the various tasks that had been undertaken on his orders. Gradually, though, the people dispersed to continue with their many chores. Esteban was among the last to depart, and after exchanging pleasantries, Yancy made arrangements to meet with him later. It was only as Esteban put on his sombrero and started to walk away that Yancy remembered Hyrum.
A hard gleam in his eyes, his arm still anchored firmly around Sara's waist, Yancy turned slowly to gaze at Hyrum, who had remained mounted during the commotion their arrival had caused. "Esteban," he called, "m« momento.'" And when Esteban stopped and came back, Yancy said bluntly, "Take Hyrum out to where the men are building the holding pens and put him to work."
He looked coldly at Hyrum. "There is no need for you to unpack—you'll be working out on the range with the other men, and you might as well sleep out there with them, too." He smiled, not a nice smile. "It is a rough camp. Your bed, I'm afraid, will be the ground, but since there is nothing here to interest you, I'm sure you'll agree that it is the best plan."
Hyrum's mouth tightened in anger, but he nodded curtly and, without a word, swung his horse around to
follow Esteban. Yancy watched him ride away, wondering just how much of a problem Hyrum Bumell might become.
A sharp pinch on his arm brought his wandering attention back to focus on the far more agreeable prospect of insinuating himself into his bride's good graces. The kisses they had exchanged upon arriving had given him great encouragement, but when his eyes met hers, the militant gleam in that sparkling green gaze informed him that his treatment of Hyrum had lost him some ground.
"That was very bad of you!" she said indignantly. "You should not treat him so cavalierly! He was your father's overseer for years—he followed him into war! He certainly deserves much more consideration than you have shown him thus far. Making him sleep on the ground like a peon! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Warming to her theme, she finished heatedly, "Hyrum is not just some vagabond you took pity on, for heaven's sake! He's almost like family."
"Not," Yancy said levelly, ''my family! I haven't forgotten that he once had amorous designs on you." He gave her a hard look. "With him constantly underfoot, I wouldn't want you to wonder what you might have missed!"
Sara drew in an outraged breath. "How dare you! As if I would . . . !" Words failed her. Fairly shimmering with righteous displeasure, her nose up in the air, she said frostily, "Please show me my room! I have nothing further to say to you!"
To her great astonishment, he replied softly, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have implied that you would do anything to besmirch your wedding vows—you are far too loyal and honest for that!" A warm glow in his eyes, a whimsical smile on his mouth, he asked huskily, "Forgive me?"
It just wasn't fair! Sara thought despairingly. She was angry at him, yet all he had to do was smile at her, look at her with those thickly lashed golden-brown eyes, and her insides simply turned into custard! But he did apologize, she reminded herself. Hanging on to her indignation by a slender thread, she said weakly, "You don't deserve it."
Yancy grinned and swept her up into his arms. He kissed her soundly and then, while Sara was still recovering her senses, swiftly carried her to the cool interior of the hacienda. Once inside, he set her on her feet and spread his arms expansively. "Your home awaits you, madam!"
Despite its not-so-appealing exterior, the hacienda at Paloma was actually quite comfortable and spacious. There were considerably fewer rooms than at del Sol, and most of them were much smaller, yet the place had a rough charm that immediately caught Sara's attention. It helped, she admitted candidly, that the entire house had been thoroughly swept and scrubbed and that several tasteful items from the storehouses at del Sol had been brought along to furnish the inside. A woven rug of brilliant blues and golds had been placed upon the stone floor; an old-fashioned, beautifully worked tapestry hung on one wall; several comfortable russet leather chairs were scattered about the main sala.
Very conscious of Yancy at her side, his arm once more around her waist, Sara was given a tour of her new domain and she decided that she liked it very much. The rooms were uncluttered and the furnishings far more plain and rustic than at the main rancho, and she was aware that while she admired and loved the house at del Sol, there was something about Paloma ... There was a coziness here, a refreshing lack of grandeur about the place. She felt freer here, less conscious of the wealth and elegance of the long line of Spanish grandees who
had lived at del Sol. The first of Yancy's Spanish ancestors who had settled here, who had built this house, had been intrepid adventurers, hard-working men and women of action and vision. Sara identified strongly with them and with the house that stood in mute testament to their victory against the hostile elements and the ravaging bands of Comanches who roamed the area in great numbers.
The small, open courtyard in the center of the house came as a delightful surprise, as did the graceful weeping willow which shaded almost half the area and the tiny, tinkling fountain. An ancient yellow rose clung tenaciously to one side of the hacienda, its sweet perfume carrying on the warm air, and Sara spied several clay pots, newly planted with scarlet and white geraniums, which had been set in a sunny spot at the base of the wall opposite the rose. A small black, filigreed iron table and two chairs with scarlet cushions had been placed invitingly under the cooling shade of the weeping willow, and Sara felt a desire to linger and let the
quiet beauty and serenity of the setting wash over her.
Unlike at del Sol, there were no graceful arched, covered walkways, nearly every room of the hacienda opening directly onto the central courtyard. The courtyard was typical of most Spanish houses, and it was here that families gathered and spent much of their free time. Sara could understand why—the setting was utterly beguiling!
Smiling down at her expressive face, Yancy asked, "Does it meet with your approval?"
"Oh, yes!" Sara said happily. "It's like an oasis of tranquility—as if the outside world had simply vanished."
Yancy smiled faintly, taking a second look around the courtyard. His eyes held a faraway expression as he said slowly, "I remember that my mother loved this place.
She and my father spent hours sitting at the same table, laughing and talking while I played at their feet. And when he was gone, she would sit and write him long letters, or read aloud to me the letters he had written to her—at least most of the letters he had written to her. I'm sure that she censored some parts for my innocent ears!"
"It sounds like they were very much in love, your mother and Sam," Sara began uncertainly. Yancy seldom talked about his parents and she didn't want to break the flow of his memories, but his words had called out for comment.
Yancy flashed her a cynical glance. "Oh, in the beginning I'm sure they were—before Andy and my grandfather drove them apart."
"But how could your grandfathers have done that?" Sara protested. "Not if Sam and your mother had really loved each other."
Yancy snorted. "Andy despised my mother, and while her lineage would stand up far better to close inspection than his, he always thought of her as 'that greaser whore' my father had defied him with by marrying!" He looked grim. "I'll give the old bastard credit for one thing— he never made any attempt to hide how he felt about my mother and the marriage! It galled him unbearably and I'm sure he died cursing my mother, perhaps even me.
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