Three Wishes (River of Time California Book 1)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Women and children were clapping and cheering, each for their own rancho, but I could see the Ventura crew was pulling ahead. Javier led a fourth cow into the corral, a vaquero quickly opening and closing the gate behind her. Fifteen others were moving at a similar rate, including young Mateo. Jacinto was up with us, clearly itching to take part but far too young to risk in the crazy mosh pit below us.

  Carried away by the excitement, I cheered too, knowing that Javier couldn’t hear me, not over all the bellowing of the cattle. Their bovine complaints made me think they were all seriously stressed. And no wonder…there were so many vaqueros moving around them, identifying brands, dividing their own from the rest, that it was pure chaos. But within twenty minutes, Javier was waving his hat to the judge, up with us, along with the rest of the crew from Rancho Ventura, all surrounding the corral as others continued to cut and drag their own cattle “home.”

  The judge acknowledged him—and the Herreras soon after—but we had to wait until every cow was claimed and corralled before the victor was announced. I held my breath, tense, worried that one of the last twenty cows below might have been marked with a V—the Ventura brand—but missed. I knew now that would mean instant disqualification. But Javier just sat confidently on his mount, looking up at the judge, awaiting what he clearly knew would be his.

  And it was. “De la Ventura!” shouted the judge, when the last cow was claimed.

  Doña Elena laughed softly, a welcome sound I hadn’t heard from her. I turned to her, and she said proudly, “There. You have seen my boy in his element. Never has this territory had such horsemen as my Dante and Javier. Mateo and Jacinto shall be the same.”

  “And perhaps Estrella and Francesca too?” I added hopefully.

  She gave me a puzzled smile. “What a thing to say!”

  “Well, why not? Your girls were born to you and your husband, were they not? What keeps them from having the same gifts?”

  She let out a scoffing laugh and drew herself up again. “No daughter of mine will ever be among the men, down there,” she said. “They are ladies.”

  Oh, right, I thought, my gaze turning back to the men, all slapping one another on the back in congratulations. Because I knew that if I was good enough on the back of my horse, that’s exactly where I’d want to be. Javier looked over his cattle, an expression of growing dissatisfaction on his face, now that the competition was over. I knew he was thinking again of those unaccounted for….and who might have stolen them.

  Fortunately, the group immediately moved toward another corral where five men took turns showing off their skills at calla de caballo, a complex display of cantering, galloping, slide stopping, spins and more. It was tough for me to figure out the point system—but I couldn’t help but grin with Rafael Vasquez when he was honored as the winning charro.

  Then we were on to jineteo de yegua, which I found somewhat stunning, observing one man after another cling to the back of a mare desperate to unseat him, my teeth hurting from just watching the repeated, jarring impact for each rider. Javier was last, and I held my breath as he came out, holding on to the rope and leaning back, taking each landing with a roll, as if absorbing the jump and letting it wash through him. He held on through five or six increasingly high jumps when the mare actually stood so high—front hooves waving in the air—that Javier’s weight pulled her backward.

  They seemed suspended in midair as Francesca and others screamed, men cried out, and my heart pretty much thudded to a halt. But Javier somehow somersaulted and landed partially on his feet, then back on his rear, narrowly falling away before the horse fell right in front of him and fortunately rolled in the other direction.

  I remembered to breathe as Javier grinned, rose, and picked up his hat, dusting it off. The people cheered wildly, and, while Javier was apparently disqualified for not dismounting and landing on his feet, people congratulated him as if he had won. He came to me, dust still in his dark hair and lashes, happier than I’d ever seen him. “A kiss for the almost-winner?” he whispered, leading me on to the next event.

  “Be serious, Javier,” I teased, looking at him as if the thought disgusted me. “With so much dirt between your teeth?”

  He laughed under his breath, but it didn’t escape me that, as he moved away to get ready for the next event, he appeared to be running his tongue across his teeth. I hid a smile.

  The crowd now approached a pen holding six big steers with ominously curved horns, all about the same size. Warily, I looked around for Adalia, but she’d clearly left the group, likely headed back to the tents. Every one of the Ventura family seemed to slow in their walk toward the pen—and others, remembering, seemed to hold back too. Javier went to his mother and kissed her cheek, and she whispered something to him, putting on a brave smile. I remained beside her, wondering why he couldn’t sit this one out—especially after just losing his brother the year before—but there seemed to be a collective attitude that this had to be done, as if doing so would make things right again. Back in the saddle and all of that silliness. It made me angry. After watching the bronco riding, what would this be like? And why must they do it? To prove something?

  The six men who intended to compete went to their horses, and I saw, then, that the pen that held the steers led into the larger corral before us. It was around that bigger, longer corral that we congregated. An older man offered each man, now mounted, a stick held in his round fist. Each drew one, determining the order in which they’d compete. Javier was last. He lifted his head to the sky and sighed, as if groaning, and the Vargas son, also competing, laughed. I supposed that since he had gone last for the bronco riding, he didn’t like waiting until the end again.

  The first man, the eldest Herrera, took his place in the corral before us. Another man on horseback hovered near. When Herrera nodded, the pen was opened, allowing one steer to bolt forward. The crowd began to chant together, “Uno, dos, tres,” counting the time as Herrera chased down the steer. At seis, Herrera dismounted at a full gallop, taking but one step as he grabbed hold of the running steer’s horns and twisted, using his full body weight to bring the animal down just as we got to diez, once, doce in our counting.

  I shook my head. Twelve seconds to wrestle a young animal to the ground. And I could too readily see how Dante had been gored. If a man didn’t get just the right grip on the horns, in the act of bringing him down, he could easily be impaled.

  Lieutenant de Leon pushed his way to my side. I pretended not to notice him. Vargas went next, bringing his steer down in ten seconds. Leon grinned and turned, accepting a coin from another soldier behind him, obviously winning his bet. The third, a Fuentes, judging by his family’s excitement as he took his place, took eighteen seconds when the steer abruptly stopped and switched course. You would have thought that the family had suffered a mortal blow, so glum were they. The fourth and fifth men went next, the last struggling to pin the steer’s head to the ground because he didn’t have quite the right grip on his horns.

  And then it was Javier’s turn. He came into the corral, and narrowed his eyes at Leon when he saw he stood beside me. Leon chuckled quietly and seemed to lean toward me as if to taunt him, but I only wanted Javier to concentrate on what he had to do right now. Nothing else. “Come on, Ventura!” I cried, clapping along with the rest. “Show them how it’s done!”

  I bit my lip as Javier wrenched his gaze from me to the man atop the gate, focusing, nodding once. His eyes never left the monstrous black steer as it tore out into the corral. Indeed, his mare was already in motion, galloping alongside the young animal. As Javier swung his leg over to dismount, I could see the steer seem to sense his progress, and he swerved away. Javier leaped more than jumped, aware that he had to cover more distance if this was going to work.

  And then he was twisting, wrenching the animal’s head to one side, forcing him down to the ground, just as the crowd counted nueve. Nine seconds. He’d won it. Again, the crowd cheered. With the competition over, everyone turned t
o slap or pat another’s back, as if it had been our collective win, rather than Javier’s. All around me, men were shaking hands and kissing the nearest woman.

  I was just taking in this exuberant response, turning and glimpsing Javier coming my way through the well-wishers, when I felt Lieutenant de Leon’s hand around my neck, eagerly forcing his mouth toward mine. Clearly, he wanted to take advantage of the moment—within Javier’s view. But I wrenched back. “No!”

  His leering grin turned into a sneer, and he took hold of my neck with both his meaty hands then, forcing me toward him. Setting my feet, I acted on instinct. I thrust my hands upward, between his arms, then pressed my forearms outward, breaking his grasp. Then I rammed upward, into his nose with the palm of my fist, giving it all I had. I heard a satisfying crack and saw blood fly in an arc, unfortunately landing across young Señorita Vargas’s pristine yellow gown. The crowd instantly quieted, split, and backed away from us in collective shock.

  The big soldier turned back to me, humiliated rage in his eyes. “Why, you little…”

  I was getting my feet set, raising my fists, preparing for his advance, when Patricio and Rafael intervened. Rafael patted Leon on the arm, while Patricio wrapped his arm around my shoulders, each of them subtly easing us apart. “Ho!” Patricio cried, grinning as if this was a planned part of the festivities. “¡Ay caramba! It looks like our champion steer wrestler has picked a girl with similar courage! Imagine! A girl with the power to resist Lieutenant de Leon! Fortunately for us, la República’s servant would never force himself on any young woman, would he? Of course not! He is a man of honor, sent here to keep the peace!”

  My cheeks burned now, as I felt Javier arrive, panting, and I saw that the crowd had surged around Leon, all forcing laughs and shouting, trying to restore the festive mood and separate him further from me. “Zara…” Javier whispered, gazing over his shoulder and then back to me, trying to figure out what had happened.

  “No, I think it’s all right,” I said, still watching Leon as he disappeared among women offering him clean handkerchiefs and crooning words and men patting his back.

  Patricio let go of my shoulders. “I’d get her out of sight for a bit,” he said softly, all trace of humor gone from his face. “Leon will swallow his rage, given his need for public favor, but it won’t take much to set him off again. I’ll send a couple of your men to watch over you.”

  “Right,” Javier said, leading me away, in the opposite direction from the crowd, heading back to camp. “Zara, what happened?” he asked, turning to face me but still glancing over his shoulder as if worried someone was coming after us.

  “You didn’t see any of it?”

  “No. I was coming your way, saw that the lieutenant was turning toward you, but then others blocked my view. By the time I reached you, they were leading him away. Bloody?”

  My legs trembled, the adrenaline now morphing into slick oil in my veins, making me feel weak and wobbly. “I…I’m afraid I just made things worse for you, Javier. I just made the lieutenant a bigger enemy than before.”

  Javier smiled. “I gathered that much.” He pulled me into his arms, hugging me to his chest and tenderly stroking my hair. “Now tell me everything.”

  “I think I broke his nose.”

  “You what?” He pulled away from me, looking into my face. “Truly? Why?”

  “I’m sorry, Javier. But he…well, he tried to kiss me,” I said, giving him a rueful smile. “When everyone was celebrating after your win.”

  Javier laughed, his handsome, dust-covered face splitting into a glorious grin. He pulled me to his chest again, laughter still rumbling in his chest. “Oh, you marvelous, darling girl. You wondrous, mysterious woman. If that’s the case, you simply saved me the trouble of breaking his nose myself. Because if I haven’t had the chance to kiss you,” he whispered, “it would’ve driven me mad seeing him do so.”

  He squeezed me tight. But then his demeanor softened, warmed. His hands moved across my back a moment and then to my arms, pulling away a bit.

  I dared to look up at him, then, his features half in shadow.

  “Zara,” he whispered. “May I kiss you? Just once?”

  And I don’t know what it was. Suddenly I was weary, so weary of holding up my guard. Of keeping everyone at bay. Especially him. Oh, especially him.

  I bit my lip and gave him a little nod.

  He reached up to tilt my chin, bending slowly to meet my lips. And then he kissed me, slowly, softly, reverently, his hands wrapping around my back to press me to him for a moment.

  Then he lifted his head, giving me a little smile as he stared into my eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment we were together in the stables.”

  “Not on the beach when we met?” I said, giving him a teasing, puzzled frown.

  “No, at that point, I fairly wanted to throttle you.”

  Fair enough, I thought. I had wounded him and stolen his horse, after all. But there was no bitterness in his tone, only humor.

  He wrapped me in his arms again, and I rested my head on his chest, thinking I’d never been kissed the way he’d just kissed me. The most action I’d ever gotten was an awkward encounter after a high school dance. I’d never let a guy get close to me since.

  But this? This thing between Javier de la Ventura and me?

  This was an entirely different school of dance.

  CHAPTER 16

  There was no dance that second night of the rodeo—only a feast. Everyone wore their finest clothing and brought their best food. It was like a girl's coming-of-age party, a quinceañera, with a full-on festive atmosphere. Food like I’d never seen since I’d arrived was served as we sat around in rings surrounding bonfires. Queso fundido—melted cheese with strips of poblano chilis on top—was served alongside platters of grilled cabrito, baby goat. Other platters held steaming minilla de pescado, a shredded fish dish with olives and capers. Piles of tamales de pollo came around, with a pitcher of verde sauce to pour over them. Black licorice and more chunks of honeycomb were in most of the children’s hands, and adults poured themselves generous amounts from casks of wine.

  I spotted Francesca in a group of girls her age, talking to some new arrivals—sailors, from the looks of them—and watched as one captain grandly introduced himself to each one, much to the consternation of the mothers, who diplomatically eased each of them away. It didn’t take long to figure out why; the captain was apparently British, and a staunch USA-fan, even as he took advantage of his Mexican hosts’ hospitality. But still Francesca stood there, talking to the man—twice her age—and smiling coquettishly, blushing. Where is Doña Elena? I thought with agitation. I realized Frani was pretty, on the brink of womanhood, but my blood boiled as if I was her older sister, realizing that this dude was moving in on a girl who was…vulnerable.

  I thought about intervening but knew it wasn’t my place. Not yet.

  Not yet. I checked myself.

  Did I think there would be a time when it would be my place?

  The thought took my breath away.

  Once more I looked around but saw Javier break away from Patricio and Rafael—both clearly a few mugs into the wine—grab Mateo, and head toward his sister, clearly intent on intervening. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Estrella came up beside me then, holding Jacinto’s hand. Despite the festive mood, the two looked positively grief-stricken. “Oh!” I cried, leaning over and looking into their faces. “What is it, Estie? Jacinto?”

  “It…it’s Adalia,” said Estrella, dissolving into tears and clinging to me. “Her…her family is here.”

  “They’re going to take Álvaro with them!” cried Jacinto, wrapping his arms around my waist from the opposite side of his sister.

  “Oh!” I cried, tearing up. So it was happening, really happening. I leaned down, taking each of them in my arms. “I’m so sorry, my friends. I know this hurts so much. But listen. Listen to me.” I waited while they tried to get their sniffles under co
ntrol. I put one hand on Estie’s cheek and the other under Jacinto’s chin, waiting for them to meet my gaze. “Adalia needs to go for a while. But I don’t think she’ll be gone forever. She just needs time to be with her own family. It will help her remember how much each of you means to her too. She’s…lost her place. But she’s about to find it again. And she needs this time to find herself. Can you trust God to restore her and your nephew to you in time?”

  They both stared at me, big brown eyes streaming tears. Helpless, I passed my handkerchief from one to the other. Their grief at this impending separation made my own rise up fresh, and the tears rose in my eyes too as I took my turn with the cloth. It was disgusting, but what could I do?

  A fresh handkerchief appeared, with the initials AV on the corner. I looked up, and there was Adalia, with twin tracks of tears streaming down her face. “Oh my dears,” she said to Estie and Jacinto, “I couldn’t have worded it better myself.” She hugged each of the children. “We are not gone from you forever,” she pledged. “Just for a time. And isn’t it sweet of the Lord to bring you Zara in my absence? She will be your friend when you are missing me.”

  I swallowed hard. The girl was making promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. But hadn’t I just done the same for her? I felt my future spinning out of my hands and up into the star-strewn sky.

  “We shall see you at the fall rodeo, come rain or shine,” Adalia promised, brushing her fingers beneath each of the children’s chins. “Now go and say your farewells to Álvaro. But don’t say farewell, will you? Just hug and kiss him and say good night, mind you?”

  The two nodded miserably, then moved away.

  But I thought there was a bit more hope in their stride as they left to do as she bid. She turned and put her hands on my shoulders. “Now, Zara. You see to yourself in my absence, won’t you? Your arrival has been a gift to the Ventura family, a gift they’re still unwrapping.” She turned to the right, as if sensing his presence. And I saw him then. Javier. Watching this whole thing go down.