“She loves you,” Chris observed, clinching the saddle and checking the stirrups once again. She noticed that her saddle had been oiled and cleaned since her escapades that brought her here. “You clean?” She waited for him to straighten up from beside the horse.
“Are you asking if I cleaned Tesoro?” He cocked his eyebrow at her waiting for clarification. Patting Tesoro’s head once more, she ventured around to stand next to him.
“You clean this?” she asked, touching the saddle Papá gave Juan Manuel for his twelfth birthday. He’d been so proud of the saddle, knowing how much work the saddle maker had put into the stitching. When Juan Manuel died, Papá was so heartbroken, he didn’t want to see any reminders of his eldest son and had most of his belongings burned or given away. Vicky hid the saddle in her room, and when Papá gave her Tesoro five years later, she snuck it out and insisted that only that saddle be used on her horse. Riding on her big brother’s saddle almost made her feel as if he were with her on her rides.
“Yes, I cleaned it up. It is a very nice saddle.” He swept a hand over the stitching and turned to her.
“It my brother Juan Manuel saddle. Papá gave Juan Manuel for birthday.”
“He must miss it—” Chris again looked at her as if asking questions without saying a word “—and you.”
She worked to hold back her emotions. “He no live now. He die with very hot.”
“Did he get burned? Fire?”
“Fire on inside.” Placing a hand on her own forehead called to mind the many times Chris had done the same while she was recuperating. “Like when I come here.”
“Oh, he had a fever?” Chris’s hand rose as if to touch her forehead, but then he laid it on Tesoro’s side. Surely she had misread his intentions. Chris had helped with her care while she was sick because Nana Ruth had been too hindered by her arthritis to do much, but now he wouldn’t need to worry about her anymore. The happiness that she should have felt didn’t rise in her chest. Instead she wished that he had touched her forehead, or maybe her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Vicky.”
“Why you sorry?”
“I’m sorry you lost your brother, and I’m sure that you must miss him. I’m glad you have this saddle to remember him by and keep him close.” For someone who so often had trouble understanding her meanings, how could he know?
A nod was all she could manage at first. Swallowing past the lump that had formed in her throat, she tried to smile and failed. “Padre Pedro say Juan Manuel and Angelica no more pain, no more tears. I miss yes, but no want them sick.”
“The padre is right. If Juan Manuel knew the Lord as his Savior, then he’s in heaven now where there is no pain or tears. Who is Angelica?”
“Little sister. She live only hours. She pretty and white.”
“So you had a little sister who died just after she was born?”
All she could do was nod for a moment. Would Chris have liked Angelica if she had lived? Would he have preferred the white skin and light golden eyes to Vicky’s darker coloring? “You Padre Cress?”
“Are you asking about my father, or a priest?”
“You are priest?” she tried again, hoping that she’d made her question clearer this time. No one on the hacienda had a Bible nor could they read it if they had. Only Padre Pedro carried one around. When she asked to read it, he had laughed and explained that he had gone to school to be able to read it for God had written it in Greek and Hebrew. The priest read out of the Latin version that had been translated centuries earlier and the church recognized as the only official translation. Since she neither knew nor could read any of those languages, she’d have to be content with believing what the priest told her about God’s Word.
“Am I a priest?” Chris looked stunned.
“Sí.”
“No, I’m not a priest.”
“But you have Biblia and you read every night at table. The night I so sick you open book and read. Padre Pedro need read Latin, or Grego y Hebreo.”
He scuffed his boot on the ground, and his cheeks, already pink with the cool breeze, glowed redder still. “That’s true. The men who wrote down on scrolls what God put in their hearts to write spoke Hebrew or Greek. Then someone who could read both wrote down the words in English so we could read it and understand it ourselves. I believe God wanted everyone to hear and understand His message. It’s a message of His love. He wanted to have a relationship with every single person. When Jesus walked on earth, he treated all men equal, talking to the sinners and the leaders of the church as if they were the same.” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to look out at the horses.
Mamá had told her so many times that God loved only the noble Spanish and the white and hated the heathen uncivilized Indians. She had told Vicky it was God’s hatred toward them that let the Spanish come in and conquer. Yet here, standing before her, was a man whose skin was even lighter than her own mother’s and he said that it didn’t matter. That God loved everyone equally. Did that mean he saw everyone equally, as well? Could he really see her as a lovely woman—not just a dark-skinned Indian? He’d said she was pretty once, but she didn’t know if she could believe him. Uncomfortable where those thoughts might lead her, she caught the sides of the saddle and slipped her foot into the stirrup.
“I on Tesoro now?”
“Let me help,” Chris offered as he caught her around the waist. He lifted her as if she were merely a handful of straw instead of a full-grown woman. He turned his head to the side, giving her privacy for her to settle her skirts and cover her legs.
“How do you feel?”
“Good. I good, Chris. Gracias!”
He finally turned and smiled up at her. Her responding smile wasn’t forced this time in spite of the twinge of pain at the jarring first step. She wouldn’t be riding home tomorrow or even the next day, but just to be in the saddle again was progress.
Taking the reins, he led them out the back door of the barn and into the corral. Tesoro followed him without hesitation. They managed three trips around the corral before he noticed how short of breath Vicky had become, and he carried her back into the house. Placing her on a chair, he bent low and helped her pull off her boots.
“You’d better take it easy for the rest of the afternoon. I think you’ve had about all the excitement you need for the day.”
She felt the desire to argue, but the wheeze coming from her lungs and the way she felt like passing out kept her from saying anything. It had felt so good to be on a horse again that she would let herself be babied for a little while longer, knowing that each day a final “goodbye” inched closer.
“Well, I do declare! That girl look just plum done in. What did you do to Miss Vicky, Master Chris?” Nana Ruth shuffled over to inspect his work.
“She took a ride on her horse today. I’m not sure who was happier, Vicky or Goldenrod.”
“You tryin’ to kill the girl, Master Chris?” Her forehead furrowed and the glare she gave him made Vicky sit up a little straighter, but Chris just grinned, showing off his dimple again as he shook his head.
“You go ahead and try to keep those two apart. They are inseparable, and now that she’s been up once, I’ll give you odds that she’ll be begging tomorrow to do it all again. Good old fresh air and a little exercise didn’t kill anyone, Nana. You were always sending me out to run off some energy.”
“’Cause you always had too much energy and not a lick of sense. She’s got a broken rib. Sitting up on top of a wild beast is a sure way to get her busted up or worse.”
Only after he had carried her the three steps she could have easily walked from the chair to the bed and then left with an excuse of seeing to the rest of the chores did Nana Ruth start chuckling.
“That there boy’s done got it bad, Miss Vicky.”
“What he have?” Vicky sat
up in the bed, confused by the sudden change in Nana.
“Why, he’s fallin’ for you as sure as my name’s Ruth. He’s got it bad.”
Judging from the look on Nana’s face, she thought Chris cared for her. If only it were true.
“And it’s ’bout time, too. He needs to find himself a good wife and start a family. Surely the Good Lord done sent you here for that. Just like He did with Adam and Eve in the garden.”
Vicky felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. She was unable to meet Nana’s gaze because the wise woman would see right into her heart and how much she would like the words to be true. Instead, she settled more comfortably in bed and closed her eyes. What Nana didn’t know was that Chris was counting the days until he could get Vicky out of his home.
God might love all people regardless of their color and birth, but she couldn’t believe that Chris did.
Chapter Ten
True to Chris’s prediction, Vicky insisted on going out to the barn each day to help groom Tesoro. After that first day, he persuaded her to wait to ride again only because she couldn’t stand straight enough to fight with him about it.
Instead, for the next two days, he took her for a quick visit to the horses and then brought the milking stool out to the woods.
He fell two trees and invited Vicky to keep him company while he sawed them into the right lengths to make a bench.
“What are you building?” Vicky watched his work with fascination. If he didn’t miss his guess, her sore ribs were about the only thing keeping her from grabbing a saw and pitching in.
“I’m making a bench. I think it’s about time you had somewhere to sit so you can enjoy the fresh air in the shade.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to bring them back. She wouldn’t be there by the time it was warm enough to want the shade on sunny days.
Glancing up, he started to try to backtrack, expecting her to be upset, but the look in her eyes dried up his words.
“You make for me? For me to sit and watch you work with horse while I work on sew?” The words were said with awe. “You want me here?”
“It’s a better option than the milking stool.” He shrugged, trying to downplay just how much he’d like to have her here come summer.
Two weeks had passed since then. Each day she had ridden better and lasted longer in the saddle with less discomfort afterward. She had also started to help with grooming all the horses. Her presence made chore time much more pleasant, and the time flew. Chris found himself with time to work on gentling Moonbeam and each day he fell one more tree standing between his cabin and the main road and every afternoon he sanded more of Vicky’s bench. He tried to focus on the tasks at hand and shut out thoughts about how empty the barn would seem once he delivered Vicky back to her home.
Any day now, she’d ask to leave, and he’d be forced to face a very tough decision. How was he possibly going to take care of both women at the same time? He couldn’t leave Nana Ruth here at the ranch while he escorted Vicky home, and Nana Ruth would not be able to ride a horse for five minutes, much less a day and a half through woods.
Still puzzling over what to do, he saddled Moonbeam and Tesoro, checking their hooves and their gear. The sun shone down, and a slight breeze stirred in the trees overhead—it promised to be a beautiful day for a picnic lunch in the meadow to the east of the creek. February was half-done, and March would be knocking on the door. Spring graced all the plants around him—the deciduous trees were starting to bud overhead while plants were poking their green shoots up through the ground. New life grew on the little rosebush Nana Ruth made him cut back each fall. He and Jeb had found it for her a few years back, and Nana tended it with care. It was the last gift her husband had given her.
“We go now?” Vicky’s silent approach caught him off guard.
“Yes, if you’re ready.” Her steps were sure and her movements graceful even in old white peasant pants and a serape that hid most of her slight build. He’d become accustomed to her in her skirt and fine blouse, but somehow this outfit made her look at home here on his ranch. The sombrero that had seen better days hung down her back by the strings around her neck. How could he ever have mistaken her for a boy, even covered in mud and dressed as a peasant? A princess in disguise, but her carriage and poise gave her away. If their paths ever met again, he would not mistake her for anyone but his princess... Halting those thoughts, he vowed to enjoy the day and let tomorrow take care of itself.
“We ride all day?” She ran her hand over the bit and reins, then checked the saddle, the cinch. Warmth filled him at the sight of her with the horse he had bred and trained. They were well matched, both in spirit and temperament.
“We won’t ride all day. Just for a while this morning, and then I was thinking we could picnic by the creek later.”
“Picnic?”
“To take food and eat outdoors, sit on a blanket on the grass.” Her vocabulary had grown so quickly he sometimes forgot to keep the sentences simple.
“Like Jesus feed many people?”
“Kinda like that.” They had read about Jesus feeding the five thousand the night before. So much of the Bible that he had heard as a boy was completely new for her. She asked each night for him to read more and more, asking questions and even writing down some of the things he said. “Only we won’t have fish. It’ll be just cold chicken and yesterday’s bread.” He grinned at her and was treated to a smile of delight on her face. “And not five thousand, just you, me, Tesoro and Moonbeam.”
She nodded, grasped the pommel of Tesoro’s saddle and set her foot into the stirrup. He quickly caught her at the waist and assisted her into the saddle. She showed no signs of pain, no quick intake of breath like she had the first few times she’d ridden. She was almost completely healed. In fact, he’d bet she didn’t need his help to mount up at all, but it was an excuse to stand close and smell the clean, fresh scent of her hair. He left his hands at her sides a moment longer than necessary.
“You gonna stand there all day or ride horse?” She grinned down at him, her sassy question laced with a touch of Nana Ruth making him laugh. The sound of laughter had become more commonplace in the last weeks. Would he find reasons to laugh once Vicky was back with her own family?
Tesoro shifted and snorted her impatience, as well. Two peas in a pod, and both of them had managed to take up residency in a corner of his heart.
Once they had headed out away from the ranch, he led them along the creek that ran from the tops of the mountains to the west. Its water was clear and cold even in the summer.
They rode in companionable silence for a time, Vicky taking in everything around them. She rode as if she had been born in the saddle. “Who taught you how to ride?”
“Berto y Papá carry me on horse before I walk. I have small horse—how you call?”
“Pony?”
“Sí, pony. I have pony when I turn four. I get old big horse when I turn seven, and you sell Tesoro when I turn fifteen.”
“No wonder you ride so well.”
“I love ride. I no want marry and no ride no more.”
“Why would you have to stop riding just because you marry?” He glanced back at her and saw sadness in her eyes.
“A lady no ride horse. Lady make house nice, cut flowers, sew handkerchief...” She sighed deeply and looked away. What could he do to protect her from such a bleak future? She had seemed content to sew and knit while she was recovering, but once she began visiting the barn each day, she came alive. Her smile shone brighter and her laughter bubbled up constantly.
“But surely not all men expect that from their wives. Don’t your haciendas have many servants who take care of your home and do your cooking?” He’d only stayed in a guesthouse next to the stables while he had been there making trades, but he’d seen the washer-women in the large side yard working on t
he laundry, and the house servants coming and going. It had been very much like life on his plantation growing up, the only difference being that the servants were indigenous people free to come and go as they pleased. “Surely your husband will enjoy taking rides with you.”
“No, mi mamá say no more ride. No more outside. I black from sun. No man want wife black from sun.”
Chris was stunned and hardly knew what to say. “You’re...tan and healthy. Your color is perfect. And any man who truly knew you would be blessed to have you by his side.” He stopped himself, wondering if he had said too much.
“Mi mamá say man want white wife. With green eyes and white hair.”
“White hair? Like an old lady?”
“No, white like sunlight and Tesoro.”
“Blond. Your mamá thinks that all men want to marry blondes with light complexions?”
“Sí, señors with blood from España want blon.”
“Blondes. There’s a d and e on the end.”
“Blondes.”
He’d like to get a hold of Vicky’s mother for a few minutes and let her know what he thought about her ideas. How could a mother put her own daughter down? “I don’t know about the noblemen from Spain, but I would rather have a woman who is kind and gentle, a good mother for my children and a helpmate to live beside me than a woman whose only charm was her outward beauty any day.”
Surprise, curiosity and something else shone in her eyes for a second, and then she turned away.
“You marry?”
“I don’t know. It’s one thing for me to live out here all by myself, but to raise a family so remote from anyone...it’s a big risk. I don’t think many women would be interested in coming to live way out here in the wilderness either.”
“You ranch beautiful. You house, warm and safe. You make good house.”
“Why, thank you, Vicky. I’m glad you approve.” He grinned at her compliment. His chest shouldn’t have puffed up at her words, but it did. Her approval meant more than he wanted to consider. “But it’s too far away from neighbors if someone were to get hurt or we were attacked.”
Rescuing the Runaway Bride Page 9