Dueling the Desperado (Brides of Blessings Book 4)

by Mimi Milan

“They were?”

  “Yes.” Her father elaborated, “They stole important documents that had been drafted to end the war. That’s why they were executed.”

  “I never knew,” Araceli whispered, horrified by the thought.

  “I didn’t want you to think less of them. After all, they were your brothers and good men, too. They were just acting under orders from a rogue superior. What more can I say? They were confused.”

  “I guess we all were,” Araceli whispered. She thought back to Miguel and his attempts to make things right… when it had never really been his responsibility to do so. A lump caught in her throat as she thought about all her harsh words. How could he ever forgive such foolish behavior?

  “I’m so sorry for the way I’ve treated you.”

  “The way you treated me? You mean with homemade meals and painting lessons?”

  She smiled at his attempt to lighten the situation, but she wasn’t quite ready to forgive herself so easily. “You know what I’m talking about. I should have taken you at your word to begin with.”

  “Maybe that would have been a little easier to do had I been honest with you from the beginning,” he said. “I guess we both learned a little something.”

  He ran the back of his hand across her brow and then tucked away the one wayward strand of hair that seemed to always escape her pinned braids.

  “Looks like we’re about to learn something else, too.” Señor Arroyo pointed and they all looked up to find Pete coming up the road, a man in a suit and bowler hat riding alongside him. “That man looks like he’s got a touch of the law in him.”

  “There you are,” Pete called as he dismounted. “I found your note in my office. Came out as soon as I could. Didn’t think to find you all on the road back, though.”

  “Turns out the men found him easy enough. If he was with a band of Miwok. They apparently found him on his way back from Calderon, mumbling something about a man and woman.”

  “Calderon?” Pete asked. “What were you doing there, and who were the people you mentioned?”

  “I don’t really remember,” Señor Arroyo said. “It all seems a little hazy.”

  “Here, papa. You were holding this.” Araceli reached into her pocket and pulled out the ruby necklace.

  Her father looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Was I? Perhaps I meant it as a wedding gift,” he slyly suggested.

  “I hope that’s going to happen,” Miguel said. He nodded to the man in the suit before turning to Pete. “You weren’t able to clear my name, were you? Had to bring a magistrate to try me.”

  Pete and the man exchanged surprised looks. The man gave him a curious grin. “You’re mistaken, sir. I’m not here to arrest you. My name’s William Mason. I’m here to assign your inheritance.”

  “My what?” Miguel nearly hollered.

  “It’s true, amigo.” Pete gave him a pat on the back. “I followed up on various leads and we found the real killer still hiding out in El Salvado. A guy named Grey—David Grey.”

  “Grey?”

  “Yeah, do you know him?”

  “Sure enough. He was under my command when we served. In fact, I heard tale he was involved in the execution of the two Arroyo boys—the soldiers who ransacked a General’s tent.”

  “Yeah, well, two things about that. First, the boys were wrongly charged. They had nothing to do with that.”

  “My sons were innocent?” Juan Arroyo choked. Both Priya and Araceli reached out to comfort him, but Araceli pulled back when she realized Priya would do well on her own.

  “I’m sorry to say, sir, but it seems that way. In fact, a guy named Miller—”

  “Moses Miller?” Miguel asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Holy hallelujah… I know him, too.:”

  “Well, according to Miller, it was Grey who had turned the tent over. He was determined not to leave the army emptyhanded and penniless. Apparently thought there was some gold to be found there or something. The only thing he found, though, were some documents drafted for the treaty. When he saw someone coming, he knew he’d have to explain the mess. He quickly stuffed the papers in his pants and said that he saw a couple of Mexican soldiers run off. Then Grey buried the papers the first place he could find.”

  Araceli gasped. “You mean our hacienda?”

  “I’m sorry to say,” Pete replied.

  “It makes sense,” Miguel concluded. “We were stationed nearby. It would have been easy to learn who in the area had served in the army.”

  “And this Grey fellow had said he saw a couple of Mexican soldiers,” Araceli thoughtfully spoke. “That’s why he chose my brothers to pin it on… and the reason my father sold our land.”

  A fat tear threatened to slide down her round cheek.

  Miguel wrapped his arms around her again. This time she melted into his embrace.

  “I’m so sorry, Chel. I wish I had known then what I know of Grey now. I’d make sure he hung before getting anywhere near your family.”

  Araceli looked up, her eyes filled with appreciation. “Thank you,” she said, “but I don’t think my brothers would want us living with such anger.”

  “Or sadness,” he added and wiped away another tear. The two smiled at one another, affection shining in both their faces. Pete cleared his throat and they quickly pulled apart.

  “Well, he’ll certainly pay for his crimes now,” the sheriff said. “There’s going to be a trial.”

  “And you’ll find me there,” Miguel volunteered.

  “I’m not so sure,” Pete said and pointed to the be speckled man who still stood there, silently observing them.

  Miguel grinned, sheepishly. “Sorry about that, pal. I almost forgot you were there.”

  The man smiled kindly. “I hope not, sir. This is quite an inheritance.”

  “I don’t understand how,” Miguel admitted. “I’m not in line for anything of the sort.”

  “Sir, are you or are you not, Michael St. James, also known as Miguel Santiago, the grandson of Daniel and Rebecca Delacroix of the Louisiana Delacroix?”

  Delacroix? He never thought he would see the day someone considered him good enough to be part of the family… and certainly not while including his given name in Spanish.

  Miguel nodded. “Yes, those are my grandparents.”

  The man adjusted his spectacles, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “I’m sorry to inform you that those were your grandparents, sir. Daniel Delacroix met an untimely death last winter when he took a fall down a flight of stairs. Your grandmother, Rebecca, passed on earlier this month. From the house to all the land, she bequeathed everything to you.

  It felt like the world was suddenly off its axis. Miguel’s mind reeled with the news.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Says so right here, sir.”

  The man held out a pile of documents filled with words that blurred in front of Miguel’s face. After all the years that he had been rejected by his mother’s family, they had finally accepted him in the end.

  Miguel reached out for the papers, but the man pulled them back. “They come with a stipulation, sir.”

  “A stipulation? What’s that?”

  “It’s here in the letter your grandmother wrote when she was nearing her time.”

  The man handed over an envelope.

  “It’s still sealed.”

  “Yes, sir. She only told me what it was about. She didn’t want anyone but you reading it, though. Said it wouldn’t be right.”

  Miguel stuck a finger under the envelope’s flap and broke the seal open. He pulled out the letter, a faint fragrance of rosewater wafting towards him, a reminder of childhood days and the perfume that had sat on his mother’s desk inside her room, a living mausoleum his grandmother kept of all her daughter’s things from before she took her own life. Miguel remembered wandering in once and finding the small glass bottle, liberally spraying its contents on himself before his grandmother stormed in, a look of m
urder on her face.

  He brought the envelope up and inhaled deeply. This small endeavor—his grandmother’s inclusion of the sweet, forbidden spray—meant more to him than even the land he had just inherited. He pulled out the letter and unfolded it.

  Dear Miguel,

  It must come as something of a shock to see me address you as such. After all the years we insisted upon the name ‘Michael,’ it almost doesn’t seem right to call you anything different. However, that is where I would be wrong.

  The truth is, your Christian name was and is Miguel. Your grandfather and I had no right to take away that which your parents gave you. Yes, both of your parents gave you that name. I know we said that your father had run off before you were born, abandoning your mother and you. However, that was a terrible lie. I would ask your forgiveness for the wrong that’s been done, but I fear that’ll be a task left up to the Maker since I’ll surely be gone long before you learn the truth.

  The reality is that your grandfather ran him off our land when we learned that he and your mother, our darling, Sophia, had married in secret—the truth coming out only when your mother began to show she was with child. However, your father refused to stay away. So, we shipped your mother off to a convent until after your birth, hopeful that he would believe she was gone forever. When she returned and learned of what happened, she took her own life—another sin I will have to answer for, especially since your father had written her many letters while she was away. Of course, we denied any news from him at all. Then he learned of her death and returned once more. We allowed him to stay for a short while, out of guilt I suppose, and even allowed him to spend time with you until we heard he had secretly baptized you and wanted to take you to Mexico to meet his parents. We were afraid then. We thought he would take yet another from us—that we would never see you again—and we had yet to fill the void from losing our dear daughter. So, your grandfather found some men to help intimidate him, threatening to have him killed. He immediately left and the letters, though growing more infrequent as time went on, never stopped coming.

  You will find them along with the title to the Delacroix estate. I have but one requirement before you can claim your inheritance.

  I understand now that we stole you from your father. Then we filled your head with lies about him abandoning you. It pains me to admit that there is no prettier way to state those facts, but I’ll be cursed to the rotten earth if I don’t do all in my power to right such wrongs. I know you always had a love for the land despite your grandfather’s insistence that it would never be yours. He was wrong, as was I, and I gladly bequeath all to you provided that you will seek out the father you were denied. Family is so important, Miguel. I’ve learned that through the years. I think your grandfather did as well, but was too stubborn to admit such. So, go find your family, Michael. Marry well and fill the Delacroix estate with the love and laughter it never had.

  With my contrition, I send my love and blessings in these regards.

  Your Grandmother,

  Rebecca Delacroix

  Stunned into silence, Miguel slowly folded the letter. All the years that had gone by not understanding why his father—and then his aunt—disappeared from his life. It suddenly all made sense now. His father had been forced to leave by his grandparents… and probably his aunt as well, if he thought about it carefully. He was suddenly filled with hope that maybe they were still alive.

  “Wait,” he said. “I don’t quite understand. What is the stipulation that my grandmother left.”

  “It’s as the letter stated,” Mr. Mason explained, “you’re to ‘fill the Delacroix estate with the love and laughter it never had.’ That begins with marriage.”

  Miguel smiled down at Araceli. “Well, I don’t think that will be so hard to accomplish.”

  She blushed slightly. “Are you once again stating your intentions, Michael… or is it Miguel? Really, I don’t even know how you’d like to be addressed.”

  Miguel shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the tree as though it’s strong foundation was enough to support all the turmoil inside. He considered her words carefully. No one had ever actually asked him what he would like to be called. Then again, it wasn’t like anyone had known there was an option. It was an oversight he was determined to remedy.

  “My parents gave me the name Miguel. I think they made a wise choice.”

  “Then I accept your proposal, Miguel.”

  “Well, someone’s awfully confident. I haven’t even asked yet,” he teased.

  “Oh, but you will,” she challenged.

  “And the sooner the better,” Mr. Mason interrupted. He pulled out another document. “You have to say ‘I do’ by your thirtieth birthday.”

  “What?” Miguel asked. “But that’s next week! That’s not enough time to plan a wedding.”

  Priya laughed. “You don’t know the ladies in this town—or Atherton Winslet. He could get a wedding done in a day if need be.”

  “Believe us,” Araceli’s father chimed in. “We speak from experience. Besides, who do you think it was who suggested the two of you might make a good match?”

  “Mr. Winslet?” Araceli asked, surprised. Although, she shouldn’t have been. From what she knew of the man, he did consider himself something of a matchmaker.

  “Then it sounds like we might have a wedding to prepare for,” Miguel said. He pulled Araceli away from the others, near a grove of trees so they could speak privately. Then he kneeled before her. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

  She joined him, not giving a whit about her skirts getting covered in dirt.

  “I don’t see any reason to fight it any longer,” she said.

  Then she waited until his mouth claimed hers, thankful that they didn’t have to wait to share their first kiss because their love wasn’t the end of some legend.

  It was the beginning of one.

  A Letter to Readers

  I hope you enjoyed reading about Araceli and Miguel. As some of you may already know, I have the tendency to write about lost identity—the questioning of who we are and what our potential might be. I think a lot of that stems from my own childhood and mixed heritage. I never quite knew where I fit in, and I tried hard to be someone I wasn’t because of it. That’s what I was hoping to convey when I wrote Miguel’s character. Yep! For the first time ever, I actually wrote myself in as the hero instead of the heroine. Well, maybe there’s a little bit of me in the heroine too.

  If you enjoyed reading Dueling the Desperado, then I think you will appreciate the next book in the series by author Dallis Adams, Sweeten the Swindler. Turn the page to get an exclusive excerpt not found anywhere else. Then stick around to read yet another passage—this one from my Spanish rendition of Cinderella, entitled A Royal Decree.

  As always, thanks for reading!

  Paz y bendiciones…

  (Peace and blessings)

  ~ Mimi ~

  The earth shifted beneath Maxine Sweeten’s feet, causing her stomach to lurch. A cry from her mother split the air, followed by her father’s shout. Then her beloved parents disappeared over the cliff into nothingness, leaving only blue sky.

  Heart lurching, she scrambled backward, trying to gain purchase, to grab onto something. Anything. But rocks and dirt crumbled around her. She fell on her backside. In a last, desperate act, she twisted and made a lunge for some sagebrush, hoping it would support her small eleven-year-old body.

  Dirt continued to rain on her face as it fell into the hungry canyon, but the tough, wiry brush held. She blinked the soil from her eyes and looked down. A small ledge protruded by her calves. Lifting her feet, she managed to stand on the narrow protrusion. But she shook so badly that she decided to keep clinging to the brush.

  “Mum? Da?” Her voice called back to her several times from the bowels of the gorge and then died. She looked over her shoulder. The bottomless canyon yawned in the darkness, as if it were still famished. She shivered.

  Did they li
ve? Were they lying far below, hurt?

  No.

  In her heart, she knew they had not survived.

  A keening wail rent the air. She wondered what kind of animal could make that sound, but then realized she was the one who was caterwauling. Finally her tears subsided. Her hands ached. She still held the brush, so tightly her knuckles were white. She took several breaths, willing her brain to work.

  What would Da do if he were in her shoes? He was a naturalist and loved to travel for the magazine he’d founded—American Nature. He’d known so much about botany, geology and ethology. It was the latter—the study of animals and their behavior—that interested Maxine the most. Her Da believed she’d inherited her great grandma’s ability to communicate with them.

  The setting sun bathed her in pink and orange hues. Soon it would be dark. She heard a rustle. Then a scurrying of small feet. She wasn’t alone.

  You have an affinity with animals, Maxine. Trust your instincts.

  She glanced up and saw large antlers first, ones that curled back. Then dark eyes surrounded by white gazed down at her. A bighorn sheep. The surefooted animal climbed down toward the sagebrush to which she still clung and then—amazingly—knelt next to her.

  As she climbed onto its back, she made a promise to herself. She would always look after the wild animals of the land, no matter where she ended up living.

  Continue reading here

  Of all the rotten luck!

  “You don’t understand. I am the daughter of Vicente de Zapatero.”

  The guards threw back their heads with laughter.

  “And I’m the bloody Count del Castillo,” one wheezed with mirth.

  Elena firmly planted both fists on her hips. “You mock me, sir. However, I speak the truth. If you would only go inside and—”

  “Now see here, you foul little zorra...”

  Elena gasped.

  “… We’ve had enough with the likes of you. The fiesta is by invitation only. Unless you can produce one, you’re not getting in. Neither are the rest of the wanton workers who keep wandering this way. The Count wants a wife – not whatever disease you and your ilk obviously carry. Now get out of here before we arrest you!”