Summer Chaparral

by Genevieve Turner

  Catarina jumped out of her chair and snapped her fingers right in Isabel’s face. “Stop that right now. If you give into self-pity, you’ll hate yourself.”

  Isabel blinked and a shudder shook her from head to foot. “You’re right. I—” She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  Catarina perched on the side of the bed, unease still snaking through her belly. “Don’t think on that brute. They’ll catch him. Every man is out there right now, searching for him.” She looked to the window, blurred as it was by the rain coming down. “Even Jace.”

  “Jace. Mother told me who he really was.”

  Catarina’s back went up at her sister’s severe tone. “Who he really is? You mean my husband, correct? That’s who he is.”

  “And a Bannister,” Isabel reminded her sharply. “Mother told me…” Her chin began to quiver. “She told me what happened to her. With those Bannisters.” She spit that last as if it were too bitter tea.

  Envy, her old companion, twisted in her heart that their mother should tell Isabel before she’d told Catarina. “She told you everything?” It was weak and broken and base—but sometimes that was all Catarina could be around her sister.

  Isabel’s hand twitched in the bedclothes. “Yes. That first night after…” Her hand stilled.

  Shame had Catarina’s gaze dropping to floor. Wicked creature, to be jealous of hearing such a story. And to know that such a story had been offered as comfort to her sister…

  “I had the most terrible nightmares,” Isabel continued. “She told me what had happened to her, the nightmares she’d had, how they came back when your husband appeared—it helped, some, to know I didn’t suffer alone.” She raised a pitiless gaze, an exact copy of their mother’s. “How could you stay with him after learning that?”

  Catarina thought of Jace clasping her tight as she’d wept the night of the attack. Of how he rose before daybreak to begin the search each morning. Of how weary he was every night as he climbed into bed next to her, because he was hunting for the man who’d given Isabel those nightmares.

  “Because…”

  Because I love him.

  Because he fixes the rain barrels without me asking. Because he takes me fishing on a Sunday. And swimming. Because he gave me a home. One that’s all my own.

  Yes. Yes, all of that and more was why she loved him. But she didn’t want to say that to her sister. She wanted to say it to him.

  “Because,” she explained, “when I married him, he became as much a piece of this family as the rest of us. Bannister or no. Because even now”—she pointed to the storm raging against the window—“he’s out in that, searching for the man who hurt you.”

  Isabel’s teeth slid against each other with a harsh, grating sound as she chewed on that. Finally, she dropped her eyes and swallowed hard. “You’re right. You must thank him for me.”

  “No, you must thank him.” She softened her voice. “As soon as you feel well enough.”

  Isabel looked to the window, blinking as if just now noticing the weather. “You don’t think they’ll stay out in that?”

  “No, of course not. It’s much too dangerous with all that lightning.” The front door slammed a floor beneath them. “That’s likely them now.” She almost bounced up off the bed, so eager was she to go find Jace and tell him—everything.

  But her sister still needed her.

  “Do you want me to warm up more tea? It will help with your throat.”

  Isabel handed the cup back to her. “No. I’ve had enough. It still aches when I swallow.”

  “I could read to you. Oh, here’s Ramona.”

  “No.” Isabel held out a hand. “Please, not Ramona.” She waved Catarina away. “Just go downstairs. I know you’re aching to feed them.”

  “Are you certain?” She was anxious to ensure all the men had a hot meal and some coffee after being caught in that. And to finally see Jace…

  “Yes. I’m fine.” A rare smile crossed Isabel’s face. “Honestly. Just go. I haven’t been alone in days, and I’m going a little mad with it.”

  The wind rose to a scream, pulling gooseflesh from Catarina’s skin. Madness seemed to lurk in that storm. “They all came in. They must have,” she said mostly to herself, as the rain pounded at the window, angry it couldn’t come inside.

  “Of course,” Isabel said, all crispness again. “Only a madman would be out in that.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” And Catarina went to find her madman of a husband.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jace didn’t know why they called it sheets of rain. Sheets were wonderfully soft, scented with laundry soap and sunshine—perfect for tangling up in with his wife.

  This was a wall of rain, bricks of it tumbling down on him as he tried to pass through. Spot’s ears were tight against his skull, but he kept moving forward, loyal to the bitter end. The dog, too, was somewhere at Jace’s heel.

  He peered into the gray surrounding him, seeing nothing but endless waves of water.

  Goddamn.

  This was his last chance to find the man, and he’d gotten caught in a summer monsoon. The men of Cabrillo had agreed this morning—this was to be the final day of the search. There was hay to cut, a cattle drive to organize, meat to store—if they didn’t start preparing now, this winter would be a lean one. Outlaw or no, they all had families and stock to feed.

  Jace had known they were speaking sense, that they couldn’t hunt forever. So he’d resolved to search even harder today, to keep going until it was too dark to see his hand before his face.

  But his eyes had done queer things this day.

  He’d watched a clump of buckwheat, flowers nodding in the wind, and seen only her, radiant in her wedding dress. He’d come across a stand of chamissal, hunting for signs of the outlaw, and seen only the dark tendrils of her hair, caressing her as she floated through the water. He’d stared blindly at some redshank, seeing only her welcoming smile as he came in for the night.

  His ears went queer as well. Instead of the wail of the wind, he’d heard her calling him to supper. Instead of the beat of the rain, he’d heard her humming to herself as she mended his shirts. Instead of his heartbeat, he’d heard her chanting: You promised, you promised, you promised.

  That chant had driven him forward when he might have faltered. And when the sky had opened and lightning came down to lick at the ground, when the others had turned back, that chant had him staying.

  A few more moments. You promised.

  Moments had turned into a few more hours. And still, nothing. Nothing but wind, a gray blanket of water, and her.

  But he pushed them all on—him, the horse, and the dog.

  It was only when Spot slid into knee-deep mud that he came to his senses.

  He dismounted and went to look at the mess he’d led his horse into. Perro appeared at his elbow, shivering with cold. Dark, clinging mud pulled at Spot’s front legs all the way past his pasterns. But Spot didn’t shy when he ran his hands down his legs—nothing damaged, then.

  Spot had been his loyal—his only—companion for years. And Jace had almost ruined him. All because he loved his wife.

  Because he wanted her to love him back.

  Time to admit defeat and take the three of them home.

  He dug Spot out, the mud staining his fingers and getting trapped under his nails, the wind blowing rain into his eyes, his nose, his ears. Damp chill became a second skin, sliding under his clothes to make him shiver uncontrollably.

  The horse stood calmly as Jace freed him, his very stillness a sharp rebuke.

  We ought to have turned back hours ago, idiot.

  “I know, Spot, and I’m sorry.”

  A jagged fork of lightning stabbed down close enough for him to smell the burning in the air. The mud sucked at his knees and shins as he struggled to his feet, scraped in the stirrups as he mounted.

  He peered into the gray, searching for something to give him his bearings.

  There, that
pine. Alone among the low scrub, it marked the split of the trail. When he’d passed it earlier, he’d thought of the bright smell of fresh wax in the house, wax she must have spent hours lovingly buffing into the floor of their home.

  Home.

  If he went left at the split, he’d arrive at the Rancho Moreno. Catarina would be waiting there for him, with something hot to drink and a plate of something savory. She’d strip off his wet things, towel him dry, put him into something clean and sweet smelling, then tuck him into her bed.

  He ached at the imaginings, water dripping from the brim of his hat to splatter in his face, ached for her arms around him to make it all better.

  He’d tell her that he’d failed, that the outlaw was still out there somewhere, despite his promises. She’d press a kiss against his brow and tell him it was all right. That he’d tried.

  If he went right at the split, he’d arrive at the homestead. There was no one there waiting for him, no hot food, no clean clothes. Only stock needing feeding and watering.

  Only the ranch he’d spent years dreaming of.

  He passed the pine, the wind flinging it this way and that, driving droplets from the needles the way a dog shook off water. He drew rein at the tree and looked to the left, toward warmth, and comfort, and her.

  He didn’t deserve that comfort. He’d promised her and he’d failed.

  He went right.

  Catarina was fine. She was safe and dry in her parents’ house. She didn’t need him.

  “You ought to be thanking me, I saved you from that mudslide—”

  Franny’s irritated voice rang out from the kitchen even before Catarina arrived at the door.

  “It doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t have been out there in the first place—”

  Felipe, talking over Franny as usual.

  “Jesus, would you two quit!”

  Juan, saying exactly what Catarina wished to—without the profanity, of course.

  The three of them were wet, bedraggled, and dripping on the kitchen floor.

  “Towels are on the counter there,” she pointed out, pulling down five plates and dishing out the menudo she’d had simmering since this morning. It was more of a Sunday dish, but she thought they’d appreciate it in this wild storm. “Where’s Papa?”

  “At the barn,” Juan muttered from behind the towel. “He ought to be in soon.”

  “And Jace?” He must be right behind them. He had to be.

  “When we turned back,” Felipe said, “he was going to stay a few moments more. Likely he’s back at his place now. Your place,” he amended.

  “But you don’t know?” Her voice rose as high as her indignation. She’d expect such carelessness from Juan, but Felipe—

  “He’s got Valor with him,” Juan said. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Valor?” She’d admit that Jace was brave, but bravery wouldn’t shelter him in such a storm.

  “The dog. I, uh—” Juan rubbed sheepishly at his neck, ”—I sent him after you to keep an eye on you.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure what Juan thought that dog might protect her from, but it was a sweet gesture. “His name is Perro now.”

  “Perro? Who the hell names his dog Dog?”

  Jace. Jace names his dog Dog, and his horse Spot, and calls me Cat—

  She sighed. “Language,” she chided absently. “None of you thought to ensure Jace was safe?” she asked with more heat.

  “He’s a grown man,” Juan said. “I can’t drag him where he doesn’t want to go.”

  She slammed the lid on the menudo pot, the cast iron ringing dully as she did. “He’s been searching hardest of all. And he’s part of us. You wouldn’t leave Franny out there, would you?”

  “Actually, I would,” Juan joked.

  Franny smacked him in the arm—which he deserved—while Felipe watched, tight-jawed.

  Catarina studied the rain sluicing down the windows and imagined her husband out there—wet, shivering, lightning striking all around him. She had a towel ready for him, a pot full of soup simmering, her bed already turned down. He only had to come here so that she might care for him.

  “He’s probably at home,” she muttered. She ran her hands down her apron. “And you all can begin again tomorrow, once it’s not raining.”

  Juan shook his head. “No, this is it. We can’t keep up this search. There’s the cattle drive to prepare for, winter coming on—”

  The blood drained from her face. “He’s still out there.”

  “No, he’s not—”

  “Be quiet, Juan!” Now she slapped his arm. “You know he is.” He was out there, all alone, searching. How long until he gave up?

  Never. He might never give up, might end up trapped, hurt—

  Felipe reached for his hat. “I’ll go look for him.”

  “No, I’ll—”

  Her father’s entrance into the kitchen stopped her.

  She took a moment to take it all in—her entire family, safe under their roof; wet, yes, but here and whole.

  Except for her husband. Who might be still out there, searching for the man who’d harmed them all when he’d touched Isabel.

  Or worse, at their home, feeding those cattle. Cattle that her father had thought worthy of Jace.

  Worthy of her.

  Something snapped inside.

  “You.” She pointed a finger at her father. “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

  “Do what?” His brows drew together.

  “Give us those horrible cattle!” Tears welled in her eyes. “He only hid his name so that we wouldn’t turn on him. He had no nefarious motives—he’s out there searching, while you all huddle indoors.”

  Her father blinked at her in shock. “I… I already spoke with him about it. I apologized and we came to an agreement. You’ll be getting a proper herd, fine breeding stock, once all this has settled. He didn’t tell you?”

  “How could he? He’s always so exhausted when he returns.” Perhaps she ought not to fly at her father like this, given that it was all her mother’s doing, but he made an easier target. “You could have told me yourself,” she went on. “I’m not a child.”

  But Jace should have told her. She was going to go find him and tell him that. “Franny, where’s your rain slicker?”

  “By the door. But you can’t—”

  “I am. If he can be out there, so can I.”

  Only a quarter mile past the gates of the rancho, she realized her mistake. She could see nothing for the blinding wetness the wind drove into her eyes, could hardly lift out of the crouch she was forced into along the horse’s neck—she’d never find him in this.

  Her mare shied at another crack of thunder, Catarina’s sodden mass of skirts whipping at the both of them.

  What a fool she was. About everything.

  She ought to turn back. She was either going to be struck by lightning, or thrown from her mare, or disappear in a mudslide.

  But he was somewhere out in all this. She wanted to find him and go home. Not the Rancho—the home they were building together.

  She’d go there and wait for him. He would return to her there—he had to.

  She set her heels to her mare and urged her onward. Only a few more miles and she’d be home again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Catarina was home.

  She threw open her front door and marched into the living room that held all her precious things.

  Jace stood in the middle of it, spinning about when the door hit the wall. His hair was damp, but his clothes were dry. “Catarina! What are you doing? You’re soaking wet. You’ll catch a cold or—”

  She flew into his arms. “I wanted you.”

  He lifted her easily, his mouth coming to hers. She kissed him back greedily, pulling at his shoulders, neck, hair, anything she could reach in her frantic attempts to get closer, close enough to climb under his skin.

  He marched them to the bedroom, his boots hammering the floor. He tossed her on the b
ed, light as a feather, and as she bounced, she reached for the fastenings of his shirt and pants, desperate for the sight and feel of all that taut skin and muscle.

  Once she’d gotten his clothes off, she had only a second to appreciate the sight of him—the hard, aroused length of him—before his mouth was on hers again. His strong, calloused hands tore at her buttons, at the damp fabric of her dress in his haste to undress her.

  And then, when they were before each other just as God had made them, they came together in a frantic, desperate coupling, the sadness, tension, and loneliness of the last few days driving them ever higher, ever faster. Until, finally, as they both reached the heights of their pleasure, the pain and sorrow bled away, leaving only peace in its aftermath.

  She settled her head into the spot in his shoulder that was hers, hazy with satisfaction. His skin smelled of warm rain, the most comforting scent she could imagine. He breathed into her hair for several moments, then: “I’m sorry I failed you. And Isabel. In so many ways—”

  She put her finger to his lips, his mustache softly pricking the tip. “You didn’t fail. No one did more than you.”

  “No, I should have done more.” So insistent—she loved his resolve, even as she wished he hadn’t endangered himself because of it.

  “You should have told me you spoke to my father about the cattle,” she chided gently.

  He shifted beneath her. “He brought them up. I never asked him for anything.”

  “I might have gotten snappish with him today about them.”

  He laughed softly, then brought her hand to his lips. “Was it so bad, confronting him?”

  “It wasn’t pleasant, and I’m glad we’re getting what we deserve with no more fuss, but I was more concerned for you.” She settled her hand in her favorite spot, just above his navel. “The weather is simply horrid.”

  “You shouldn’t have ridden in this.” Again with that insistence, delicious now when directed toward her. “You could have been hurt.”

  “You were out in it,” she pointed out.

  His chest hitched under her ear. “I should still be out there searching for him. I promised you I’d bring that man in—”