“Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” he whispered back.
Her chin dipped, no doubt to try to hide the pink of her cheeks and the tipping of her mouth. He caught her pleased reaction regardless. No, this was nothing like the memory of his mother. Odd, that it should come to him now.
“So, Jace,” Obregon interrupted with false earnestness, “how’s the work on the claim coming? Going to have it ready in time for the Señorita here?”
Jace pulled his attention from the delightful face of his wife-to-be.
“I think we’ll be fine,” he answered. “It was in decent shape before, and Felipe’s been helping.” He took a bite of meat and almost moaned. If Catarina was half the cook her mother was, he was in for a treat.
“Felipe is so kind,” Catarina said. “It’s a shame he couldn’t be here today.”
“Well, when Ines beckons, I suppose he has to run.” Obregon laughed, the sound buffeting across the walls. “I’d offer to help myself, but my duties keep me busy, traveling from one end of the county to the other.” Obregon turned to address the Señor. “You heard that the Carey boys returned in disgrace?”
Catarina released a tiny gasp, but when he glanced over, her expression was impassive.
The Señor snorted. “I’m not surprised. How upstanding people like the Careys managed to produce two such shiftless cholos is beyond my comprehension.”
“Cholos?” Jace asked.
“Outlaws, trash, and such,” Obregon explained. “There are rumors in the valley that this new friend of theirs beat a Sonoran half to death, simply for an evening’s entertainment.”
The Señor raised his eyebrows. “And you didn’t arrest him?”
“I searched for this Sonoran, but couldn’t find him. Until he or his body appears, there’s not much I can arrest the man for.”
Catarina fiddled with her napkin, her gaze never lifting from her plate. Something about this conversation bothered her, beyond the obvious.
“I suppose those Carey boys aren’t the kind of men you’d hire for ranch work?” Jace asked.
“No,” Obregon said bluntly. “You’re better off sticking with Felipe’s help, whenever he can spare it.”
“Felipe is one of the best men I’ve ever met,” Jace said.
Felipe’s reaction upon hearing of the engagement had been to release a deep, resigned sigh. And then he was grinning and shaking Jace’s hand and offering whatever help of his Jace might want. Jace was discovering that being indebted to Felipe wasn’t at all unsettling—it was almost a pleasure.
So this was what friendship was like.
“I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met him,” he said, “and if he hadn’t been such a good friend to me.”
“Probably not engaged to my daughter,” the Señor muttered.
“Well, then, isn’t it lucky for all of us he did?” Jace bared his teeth in a smile at the old man. He caught Catarina’s eye as he turned back to his plate and gave her a long, slow wink.
If her color had been high before, it touched the heavens now. This buggy ride after dinner was going to be something. He leaned in to whisper, “You’d best tell me what you’ll need done on the house, since I’m sure I’ll forget something important. I don’t want you lacking for anything.”
He’d make certain she had no complaints.
“Could we see it later today?” she asked, her hand coming lightly over his. “Mama should go with us. She’ll know what we need.”
“That’d be fine,” he said, even as his belly rolled at the idea of having the Señora’s sharp eyes on him all afternoon.
Especially if she’d read the papers recently.
Catarina called down the table, “Mama, would you like to come to the claim today? We’ll need your advice on housewares.”
“Not this time, I think,” the Señora said. “Perhaps next Sunday?”
Next Sunday… Christ, he had to do this every Sunday. At least the food was good. He’d think on the food all week to brace himself for a repeat.
“Whatever you’d like, Señora,” he said with a tight smile.
Old Man Moreno threw down his napkin and pushed back from the table.
“As always, Señora, the meal was excellent. My compliments.” He sketched a little bow to his wife, who smiled fondly at the salute.
“Your compliments are always most precious to me,” the Señora said.
Jace’s brows pulled together at the interplay between the two. He couldn’t remember his father ever giving his mother such a compliment. They had shared quite a few tense silences, though.
“Isabel, Franny,” Catarina barked, causing him to jump like a spooked horse, “time to clean up.”
The girl could lead a cattle drive with that bossiness. It reminded him of how Barbara had ordered him around when they were kids, her hands cocked on her hips, saying, “No, you’re not doing it right!” The angels must assign that kind of bossiness to all older sisters with rambunctious younger siblings.
“No, no,” the Señora said. “Franny and I will take care of the dishes.” Franny went pop-eyed at that, but amazingly, didn’t holler. “You and Isabel enjoy your time with your fiancés.”
That was his cue. He pushed back from the table, thanked the Señora for the meal, and went to prepare for the next trial.
Only this one promised to be a hell of a lot more pleasant than dinner had been.
She was finally getting her courtship.
Catarina waited on the front porch for Jace. Vibrating with impatience, she tried her best not to hop from foot to foot in her excitement. Isabel and Joaquin had already left to go walking, so there was no one to look askance at her. But Jace might surprise her at it, and that wouldn’t do at all.
She looked her very best today, in a slate blue dress trimmed with ivory ribbon, her hair pinned up with nary a strand out of place. It would have been more fetching if her stick-straight hair would hold a curl, but one had to work with what one had.
What she had today made quite a pleasing picture, if she did say so herself.
Everything must appear perfect when she sat next to Jace in the gleaming buggy, being smartly pulled along by that flashy paint horse of his. And if they came across any other couples on this Sunday, so much the better.
She’d seen the sly glances, the mouths pressed to their neighbors’ ears in church. She’d held her head high and sworn that if everyone wanted a show, she’d give them one. He might only want her for those cattle, but she’d never let the rest of the town guess that. As far as her public behavior went, they would think this the greatest love match since Paris and Helen.
As for her private behavior, well, she hadn’t quite decided on that yet. Whenever she’d let her hopes for this marriage rise too high, a nasty voice in her head would whisper, “One hundred head of cattle.”
It always sounded eerily like Jace.
Once the details of her marriage had been settled, not by a word or glance had her parents reproached her again. It made her feel more ashamed than if they’d been berating her every second. Every so often, she’d catch her mother wearing a sad, pensive expression.
And those words would come again: One hundred head of cattle.
He got cattle, she got a house to keep.
She supposed marriages were founded under worse circumstances. She’d just wanted her marriage to be founded on slightly better ones.
The sound of creaking wheels came down the drive, and she couldn’t prevent herself from giving a happy little clap.
When her fiancé came within sight, she wished she hadn’t.
“What is that?” she demanded.
“This is a cart,” he said, pointing to where he sat. “And this is a donkey.” He pointed to a long, shaggy pair of gray ears.
“That’s the donkey cart we take around for visiting! You can’t possibly expect me to go driving with you in that.” How was she to play the supremely happy engaged lady while riding behind a donkey?
“I
f you don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” he offered.
Oh no—he wasn’t wriggling out of this. “Where’s Spot? Why didn’t you borrow a buggy from someone? Anyone?”
“Felipe said I could borrow the cart, since he was taking Ines in the buggy. I couldn’t possibly hitch Spot up to this; he’d die of shame.”
“That horse has more pride than a cat,” she muttered as she went to climb into the cart, jerking her limbs in. She would not let him ruin this afternoon jaunt for her.
“Of course he does. Have you ever seen a cat that can work a cow like Spot does?” He clucked to the donkey, who brayed indignantly, and they started off.
Insects chattered from under silvery-green sage, birds chirped to one another from cottonwoods reaching for the heavens, and bees buzzed industriously in the buckwheat blossoms. A beautiful late summer’s day, all laid out for them.
But she had more important things planned for this drive than simply admiring the scenery. She tilted her head and gave him her slow sideways look, the perfect image of a coquette.
The rat wasn’t even looking at her.
She stared through the donkey’s twitching ears at the road ahead and stuck out her lip. Silly, to be petulant over a Sunday buggy ride, but… well, this had been her fantasy for so long.
I want more.
“Have I told you how pretty you are today, darlin’?”
Ah, he was finally doing what he was supposed to.
“No, you haven’t,” she said. She tilted her head so he might fully appreciate how lovely she was.
“Well, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in your church dress there. But if you think I’m just going stare at your face and let this donkey run off the road, you’d better think again. He pulls to the right like a son of a bitch.”
“He always does that. And don’t use that language,” she chided.
“Does being bossy come naturally to you, or did you have to learn it?”
Bossy? Her? How could he think such a thing? She was her mother’s right hand, the one who ensured everything ran as it should. That wasn’t bossiness, that was simply… being the eldest. “Whatever do you mean? I’m not the least bossy.”
“Oh yeah? What was that back there”—he jerked his head at the ranch behind them—“when you were barking at your sisters like a cattle dog at a loose steer?”
“I’m the oldest,” she explained. “I have to keep everyone in line. If it weren’t for me, Isabel’s nose would never leave her books and Franny would be out running wild.” Did he think a house ran itself? It didn’t, no more than a ranch ran itself.
“Mmm,” was all he said.
She’d argue further, but she had the entirety of their marriage to spend convincing him she was right. She’d accede the point this time.
A hawk glared at them from a nearby pine tree, his baleful eye following them as they drew near. As they went past, he spread his beautifully striped wings and launched into the sky, flashing his red tail at them.
They passed the Ortega place, where the little house sat as sad and lonely as ever—a melancholy tribute to the loving family who had once inhabited it.
“Felipe told me what happened,” Jace said softly. “He—he cried about it.”
Her heart clenched at the image of Felipe brought low by his grief. “They were such a happy family. I think Felipe misses them as much now as when they died.” He hid his grief well, most of the time, but to lose everyone, so quickly—such a wound would never heal. “He lost everyone he loved—he’s the only one left.”
It occurred to her—Jace had never spoken of his family. She peered consideringly at him. “Is your family coming to the wedding?”
“No.” His jaw twitched.
“Oh? Do they live too far away to make the journey? Where do they live?”
“No.”
Chills began to creep across her skin. “Did you at least write to them about the wedding?” And why wouldn’t he say where they lived?
“No.” The tightness of his voice warned her she was heading onto dangerous ground. She went ahead anyway. She was going to be his wife; she deserved to know.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“It’s none of your business.”
She gasped. “Did they throw you out?” The chills threatened to grow into shivers. What horror could he have possibly committed to force his own family to cast him aside? She couldn’t imagine doing something so terrible as that.
“No,” he spat. “I—” He took a heavy breath. “I ran away.”
“Mercy.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “But why? What did they do to you?”
He shook off her hand as if it annoyed him. “Nothing. I don’t—I’m not discussing them any more.”
She set her hand in her lap and studied it. Nothing offensive there. A rather comforting-looking hand, if she thought on it.
But he didn’t seem to agree. He preferred to reject her overtures and give her an empty page rather than his true background. And he wouldn’t say why.
She swallowed hard and opened and closed her fist. If he asked, she could tell him of relatives in every corner of the state. Her ancestors were an unbroken web stretching back to the time of the missions.
He was a stranger to her, in more ways than one.
He sighed and she glanced over to catch him rubbing a hand over his eyes. Instantly, the cart veered to the right and he scrambled to set both hands back on the reins. Once the donkey was under control, he turned to her. “Darlin’, let’s not argue about my family. They’re not coming and you don’t ever need to worry about them. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Very well,” she said carefully. “I won’t ask again.”
If her parents asked about his family, she didn’t know what she would say. Her fist closed. She couldn’t lie to them, nor could she tell them the truth. His abandonment of his family would be another tally against him, one they would set next to Not one of us and Despoiler of women.
“Wait until you see the place,” he said, the words tight with forced cheer. “The corrals and the barns are in good shape, all ready for those hundred head of cattle.”
Those hundred head of cattle. She wanted to spit on those hundred head of cattle. But it was too late now—she was committed.
To him. For life.
“How is the house?” she asked, with just as much forced cheer. She could play at happy couples as well. “Is there already an orchard? A fenced garden plot?”
“The house is standing, but I don’t know about an orchard or a garden. You’ll have to see for yourself about that.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
After his talk at dinner about how everything would be ready in a month, she began to worry. He’d spent years as a cowhand; perhaps he thought a house should simply have four walls and a roof that didn’t leak?
“You show me where you want your garden and I’ll work on breaking up the soil and fencing it next spring.”
“But there’s still time to plant a fall garden.” Her seeds. Finally she would put her seeds in her own garden. She forced her attention back to the matter at hand, before she wandered too long in a dream garden. “We’ll need it if we want to eat something besides salt pork and tortillas come winter. My mother can provide some preserves from the summer’s canning, but it’d be nice to have fresh things for as long as we can.”
She worked at her lower lip, calculating how long it would take to get the ground turned and ready for seed if she did it on her own. “Don’t worry about getting the garden ready,” she decided. “You’ll have your hands full preparing for the stock. I can set up the beds and the fence myself.”
“We’ll see,” was all he said.
A strangely comfortable silence fell. For all that the house might need more work than she’d thought, she’d enjoyed discussing it with him. It wasn’t the heady flirtation they’d shared so far, or the intemperate lust that had l
anded them here, but it was… companionable.
“My friend, Laura, is going to have a baby soon.” She wasn’t quite sure why she’d said that, since he’d seen for himself, but it seemed the sort of thing one discussed with a husband. Or future husband.
“Good for her. Is she the one who was sick at the dance?”
“Yes, that’s her. She married Marcus about a year ago now. I never thought much of him, but they seem happy.”
“Marcus Gries? Is he the potato farmer?”
“Yes,” she said with a laugh, “that’s him. Everyone thinks he’s daft, trying to raise crops here. How on earth is he going to irrigate them? There’s no water company here. Laura said he had some crazy idea about deep-water wells. Although she didn’t call it crazy.”
“I suppose when you’re in love, nothing seems crazy,” he mused.
“I suppose,” she agreed. “Thank God we’re both in our right minds.”
A beat passed and she began to laugh as the absurdity of her words hit her. It must have tickled him as well, because he began to laugh too.
Once they had gotten ahold of themselves, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Our right minds, huh? After we were caught doing what we were doing?”
She simply grinned. Laughing with him was almost as fun as flirting with him. Almost.
“I’d say we’re as crazy as they are, in our way,” he said.
Crazy. She supposed it was mad, to look at this man—who might only want her one hundred head—and clutch at the wild hope their marriage would be a happy one.
Of course, hope didn’t go quite as far toward making a happy marriage as effort did.
Before she could ponder the notion of effort further, they rounded a bend, after which he pulled up and announced, “Here we are.”
They were stopped near a lonely fence rail. He stepped out of the cart, tied the donkey up, and fully lifted her right out. Her head spun as she went up and over, impressed by the show of casual strength and by the steel in the muscles beneath her hands.
He led her through the front yard, his hand tight on hers, both of them silent and sober. A dignified old oak tree spread its massive branches in a friendly welcome. Past that, the little house with its boarded windows sat waiting for them, gray and sagging, but lacking the air of sadness clinging to the Ortega place. A mesquite tree in need of pruning flanked the front porch, its showy yellow blossoms at odds with its spiny leaves.
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