Rescuing the Runaway Bride

by Bonnie Navarro

  “But you saved me, Chris.”

  “I won’t let him near you ever again,” Chris promised, hugging her close, but she felt a change as he stood there. Even with his arms around her he was pulling away from her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Let’s go inside. You need to rest.” He slid his right arm over her shoulders and hugged her to his side as he led her past the growing crowd. Señor Gonzalez, Señor Castillo and Señor Hernandez all stood behind them, watching everything with guarded eyes. They had been part of the meeting Papá had gone to. They had also heard the threats Joaquín had yelled earlier at the dinner table. If it came to a feudal war, would they side with Joaquín or with Papá?

  The barn filled with vaqueros. Everyone must have heard the gunshot in the otherwise calm night. For a moment, Vicky worried that Don Joaquín might still meet his maker that night. After all, he had tried to steal two horses and Don Ruiz’s daughter. The horses alone would merit a hanging had he been a plebeian.

  Because of his station in life, if one of the vaqueros were to take matters into his own hands, he might end up in prison or worse. But with the other dons and her father there, having witnessed everything, Papá and the others would determine how to mete out justice.

  When Vicky and Chris reached the steps to go into the kitchen, he leaned down and looked into her eyes. She saw something in his face that caused her fear to grow. Something was wrong. He was saying goodbye—even though he’d promised only the day before to stay until her birthday. Now that there would be no forced wedding with Don Joaquín, they could celebrate her birthday with joy. Surely he would keep his word and stay for that.

  The door opened before she could ask him any questions, and Magda swept her up in a strong embrace. “Mi’ja. I was frantic. I thought surely that animal would kill you for standing up to him.”

  “He tried to take me away, but Chris saved me.” She glanced at Chris but didn’t see the tender expression he normally had for her. Instead he looked sad, forlorn, as if the world was ending.

  “I told you he’s a good man. God was looking out for you, Mi’ja. He gave you a hero for your very own.” Pulling Vicky with her into the kitchen, Magda pushed her into a chair at the table and then pointed to the one next to it for Chris. He sat down heavily as if he had aged fifty years in one night.

  “Chris, are you hurt?” She turned her attention to him as Magda went to bring the tea.

  “No, I am fine,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He sat with his forehead leaning in his palm.

  “Chris, you no talk the verdad.”

  “Verdad?” He didn’t turn to look at her.

  “When words are yes. Real. Not mientira.”

  “Mientira?”

  “Mientira—when you see sky blue and say it red or say snow is green or grass is pink...”

  “Not true? A mistake?”

  “No mistake. When you know grass is green and say it pink.”

  “You’re asking if I’m lying?” He turned his face to her, and she could see the deep sadness written in his eyes and etched in the lines of his forehead.

  “You lie. You say you fine, but you not fine.” She bit her lower lip and ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the tears starting to form. It had been a long and eventful day, and for a few minutes, not even an hour, she had believed that someone as wonderful as Chris could want her to be his helper and mate for life. She had begun to let Magda’s words spark hope in her lonely heart. How foolish. A tear slipped past her eyelashes, and she sniffed. “You no want stay for my birthday. You want go to home. No want dance with me.”

  “Hey, Vicky, it’s not that at all.” His voice softened. He turned in his chair, catching her chin in his palm and forcing her gaze up to meet his. The look of concern and tenderness had returned. He slipped a finger across her cheek and caught the stray tear. “You have no idea how much I want to stay. I’m just... I almost lost you.”

  Magda set a cup of tea in front of each of them, placed the sugar bowl and honey between them and retreated. “I must go home and rest for tomorrow. You go get some sleep soon, mi’ja. Señor Chris.” Magda left out the back door.

  Vicky waited only until the door closed behind Magda. “You no have to lie, Chris. I not want you to dance with me if you no want.” She’d find a way to forget about him. She’d live the rest of her life trying to help her father on the hacienda. No one would ever compare to Chris, so there would be no more dreaming of romance or finding someone to love, to form a family with. Ever. But before meeting Chris, she had never dreamed that could be her life anyway.

  “I’m not lying, Vicky. I promise you I’m not lying. I failed to take care of those who depended on me most. Ezequiel, Jeb, you... You deserve someone who can keep you safe.”

  “You came and save me. You risk for me. You good man.”

  “But I didn’t protect you from Don de la Vega. I shouldn’t have left you alone. If I had been with you when you encountered him...”

  “You be dead,” she stated even as a chill ran down her spine. It was true. Even as she said it she knew it to be the truth. Chris opened his mouth as if about to argue but then stopped and looked at her, his eyes widening with realization.

  “He would shoot you and then take me. He bad man. God sent you to save me, Chris. He let you be safe so you could save me. You good man.” She swallowed and bit her lower lip to keep more words from pouring out. He was the man she wanted for a husband. No one else.

  He pushed a tendril of hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. His touch caused a tingle to run from her cheek, down her neck to her chest. Her heart sped up as his gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and then back to her eyes again, asking her something. He could ask of her just about anything and she would comply—knowing that he would never intentionally hurt her. He leaned just slightly closer, and she did the same. Then his lips covered hers in a tentative kiss. Sweet and gentle like the man himself. He sat back, but she wanted another taste of him, of his concern for her and his caring.

  “I shouldn’t have done that. It will be harder,” he muttered and moved away.

  “Why?” She had heard Rosa’s and Margarita’s stories about vaqueros stealing kisses. She’d even seen Berto steal some impassioned kisses when he returned from the fields and he and Magda thought they were alone. At the time she had wondered if she would ever be kissed by someone handsome and worthy. Now she had, and he’d regretted it immediately.

  “It will be dangerous out on my ranch. What if de la Vega had come across you there?”

  “God would save me. And if He hadn’t, it would have been for some purpose.” Nana Ruth had said those words more than once when Vicky had paced from one window to the next watching for a sign of Chris’s return when he had been out all day.

  “But I thank God you save me, Chris. We safe here now. He use you.”

  “But as your husband I should protect you. I don’t know if I can. What would happen if someone else came and attacked?”

  Her breath froze in her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t quite find any words to argue. He’d said “as your husband” as if he wanted to marry her! Her dearest and most vivid dream come true. Did he really mean it?

  But then he’d come for her in the barn and fought a man armed with a pistol and a noble at that. Yes, he did care for her. He might even love her, but he feared that love. Maybe that was why he’d been living out in the woods all this time.

  It clicked, like one of her brother’s wooden puzzles when the pieces fit together. He feared not being able to protect her and losing her... He hadn’t wanted to bring her here to marry or even to keep her out of his home, but because he’d already lost Jeb on the ranch and he feared something similar would happen to her.

  Well, he had taught her a lot about the Bible and about English, but
maybe it was time she shared the lesson she had just learned, as well. She asked Father God to give her the words as she squared her shoulders and looked deep into his wonderful, kind blue eyes. Eyes she’d like to look into every day for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Chris, why you think you could stop bad men from being bad?”

  He shook his head, refusing to listen. “I couldn’t protect Ezequiel. I couldn’t protect Jeb. I couldn’t even protect you the day we met. You would never have gotten hurt if I had been paying attention and shot the cougar on my own.”

  “And I would have been too lost in the woods and too sick that night to find shelter. I be dead by morning.”

  Something about her words stopped him. His body stilled. His breath stayed stuck in lungs that refused to work. She nodded. “I sick when I see you by water. I not want talk. Not know if you good or bad. Then puma try eat you. By getting me in water, God save my life, and you take care of me. Cristofer Samuels. You a good man, and I thank you for save my life then and tonight again. You not God to keep everyone always safe, but God use you to help.”

  Could her words be true? Had he been relying on his own power and thinking he was responsible for everyone and everything?

  “You very good man. One man, Ezequiel, die because of his own words and his foolishness, but many family free today because of you. You a man I trust with my life. Why you live with no viha?” Her gaze was too probing. As if she already knew more about his answer than he wanted to admit.

  “I wanted to show that I can make a living without relying on anyone else’s labor. I was going to do it all myself, and I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s safety.”

  She sat still for a minute, her gaze on the teacup as she concentrated. He sensed she was forming an argument, but he wasn’t willing to battle with her anymore. As soon as her father had given his blessing, all he thought about was finding her and proposing, but then the threat of Don Joaquín interrupted their discussion and reminded him once more of all his shortcomings.

  She turned to face him, her eyes full of question. “You say that name Cristofer mean one like Christ. Yes?”

  “Yes, it means ‘Christlike one.’ Someone who tries to be like Christ.”

  “Jesus live all by himself in desert? He not have any friend? He not talk to God in the early morning? He do it all himself?”

  He didn’t understand her logic. “No, Vicky. Surely you remember what we read. Jesus regularly went off by himself to pray, to talk to God the Father, but he lived with his friends, the disciples.”

  “So he talk with God the Father because he need friend?” she asked haltingly, as if puzzling out her questions.

  “Yes.”

  “And when he go from town to town? He go alone, yes?” She sat up and grinned at him as if she had just solved a puzzle.

  “No, Vicky. He took his disciples. He had many people who followed him. He taught them as they went. He told the stories or parables to large groups of people. He had the twelve disciples who were always with him, helping him and learning from him.”

  “You not like Christ.” Even as she spoke, she laid her hand on top of his, as if softening the words she said. “He live with friends. He let others work with him. How you tell others who no have Bible about Jesus if you never talk to them? How other men feed family if you no give them job?”

  Could it really be that simple? Had his intentions to avoid people been wrong? Then he remembered the “great commandment”—to go and make disciples of all the nations. He hadn’t shared the Bible with anyone other than Vicky for all the years he had been living in Alta California, content to let Padre Pedro try to teach the whole of Alta California on his own.

  He bowed his head and whispered a prayer. “Sorry, Father. I put my agenda ahead of Yours. I went where I could avoid the pain and responsibility, but that wasn’t what You created me to be. You gave me blessings, but You expect me to be responsible with those gifts and blessings. Thank You for bringing Vicky to my life. She’s taught me more than I could ever have taught her. Amen.”

  When he lifted his head, he found Vicky sitting closer to him, tears in her eyes. She leaned in, touching his face for the first time, skimmed her finger up his cheek, her index finger exploring his dimple, then she framed his face and pulled him to her, kissing his lips. Her kiss was innocent and pure.

  He held back for a second and then gave in to the need to be close to her. She smiled even as he kissed her. But there were things he needed to say, a very pressing question that needed an answer before he could indulge in kissing Vicky any more. Still, breaking the kiss was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

  “I love you, Vicky. I can’t imagine life without you. We can have half the hacienda move and make a viha by us or we can ask your father for some land to rent here and be closer, safer. I just want to spend the rest of our lives together. No more being alone. Vicky? Will you marry me? Your papá already gave me permission.” He leaned back to look at her closely. He should have waited for just the right moment. He should have gotten down on one knee, should have had a ring or flowers or...

  “Yes. I marry you, Chris.” A tear escaped and raced down her cheek even as her lovely smile bloomed across her face. He reached out and smoothed the teardrop away.

  Relief filled his lungs with a breath of air, laced with the scent of her hair and her floral perfume.

  “Chris, te amo.” She smiled tentatively and then leaned in for another perfect kiss.

  For a while, they sat in silence. He watched as she sipped her tea, unable to believe that the beautiful woman next to him was truly going to be his wife. Then he realized she was exhausted, the emotions of the day catching up with her. As soon as she finished her last sip, Chris stood and pulled her chair out for her. Helping her to stand with his hand supporting her elbow, he led her up the stairs to her door. When they arrived, they found Berto sitting there.

  Vicky seemed surprised, but Chris wasn’t. If the older man hadn’t taken the post, he would have himself, whether it was proper or not. Berto made eye contact, and Chris wondered if there was a second reason he had chosen to sleep in the hallway that night.

  “The room is safe?” he asked Berto.

  Even with Berto’s assurances, Chris entered, leaving Vicky waiting out in the hallway. He opened her cabinet doors, checked the windows and made sure that the built-in steel bars were all secure. Then he came out and kissed her sweetly on the cheek, hugging her against his chest and whispering, “I love you, Vicky, my sweet.”

  “I love you, Chris.”

  With her words in his heart, he pulled himself away. Waiting while she entered her room, he heard the dead bolt slide into place before he opened his own door. Making a quick sweep of his own room to reassure himself no one was waiting to cause any more mischief that night, he readied for bed. Kicking off his shoes, he went back to the door and opened it. Berto sat up straighter and gave him a fierce look.

  “I door open. I...” He paused and then held his hand to his ear to try to show that he just wanted to be able to hear if anyone should need him during the night. What if she had more nightmares? After coming face-to-face with Don Joaquín and being kidnapped at gunpoint, she had reason to have night terrors.

  The older man smiled and nodded, then pointed to the door, signaling to Chris to go back inside by flicking his wrist and fluttering his fingers. Then he pantomimed laying his head down. Chris nodded and returned to his room, sure that he was too keyed up with all that had happened to be able to sleep. So he would spend some time talking with God, learning to turn over those he loved most and felt responsible for to God’s watch, care and protection. He’d have to pray daily for God’s strength and wisdom and the peace to rest in His omnipotence and might.

  And he also planned to thank God for bringing Vic
ky into his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next day her father announced at breakfast that they had a little over twenty-four hours to prepare for not only her birthday but also her wedding day. Mamá had chosen to sulk in her room, ignoring Vicky’s request for her to come out and take part in the preparations.

  Magda had called in many of the women from the hacienda for assistance. They came to the main house to help prepare the food, clean the house and sew Chris’s suit and put the finishing touches on Vicky’s dress.

  As the day flew past, she caught only glimpses of Chris. She still could hardly believe that he had asked her to marry him. That he would make room on his land for a village so that they could be protected. Could he have become even more handsome overnight? She thought he might have. Or maybe it was the gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before.

  The grief and weariness she hadn’t noticed until it was gone no longer kept his smile from reaching his eyes. He looked deep into her eyes, and she felt the connection in her heart. He openly played and laughed with others now, no longer afraid of creating connections and even showing affection.

  “He’s so handsome.” Margarita had come to help sew the last of the jacket pieces together as they worked in the late afternoon.

  “And strong. I heard he subdued Don Joaquín last night and didn’t even get hurt!” Rosa commented as she finished Vicky’s veil.

  “Papá has had him working out in the corral with the new horses this afternoon,” Margarita reported. “All the young women are gawking.”

  “But of course you didn’t, Margarita,” Rosa, the older of the sisters, teased. So that explained why Chris hadn’t been up to talk with her or check the window or a dozen other things he had found as excuses to be nearby earlier in the day.

  “No, I didn’t stand around with my mouth hanging wide open like I’d never seen a handsome young man before. After all, I have Cente.”