Someone Like You (Night Riders)

by Leigh Greenwood

  Maria hated it when people compared Luis to Rafe. “He’s a grown man. You’re still a boy. I’m sure he couldn’t do any of those things when he was your age.”

  “Juan said he could ride a horse before he could walk.”

  Maria laughed. “I’m sure he rode sitting in his father’s lap and holding on tight.” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.

  “Papa never took me in his lap. He didn’t teach me how to ride.”

  Maria had been grateful to Warren Jerry for giving her a home, but she would never forgive him for the way he’d treated Luis.

  “Your papa was older when you were growing up, and he was sick a long time before he died. I’m sure he would have taught you to ride if he had been younger and in good health.” She knew that wasn’t true and suspected Luis knew it as well. The picture Warren had kept by his bedside, and his will, confirmed Maria’s belief that he’d spent his last years regretting his separation from Rafe.

  “Will he send me away to school?”

  The question caught Maria off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “Juan says all boys are sent away to military school when they’re ten or eleven. He says it turns them into men. He says it’s a Spanish tradition.”

  “Your father was not Spanish.”

  “Both my grandmothers were.”

  Maria deplored the pattern of Spanish fathers marrying their daughters to Anglo men, even though it had proved to be the best way to hold on to Spanish land grants after California became part of the United States. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I promise I won’t let him do anything to make you unhappy.”

  “Maybe I should go to military school. All the boys on the ranch ride better than I do.”

  “Only because riding is part of their work.”

  “I wish I could ride well. I wish I could do something well.”

  Maria had done all she could to give Luis confidence in himself, to make him feel loved and valued, but that was next to impossible when neither his mother nor his father showed any interest in him.

  “You do lots of things very well,” Maria assured him. “You’re a brilliant scholar, you—”

  “No one cares about that.” He sounded dismissive of his own achievements. “They only care about how many tricks you can perform on horse back or how well you can shoot.”

  Maria had always enjoyed the contests the local men indulged in during festivals, but she disliked that they used such stunts as a mea sure of manhood and character.

  “Is that my brother?” Luis pointed at two men approaching the house along the lane from town. The darker one was leading a pony.

  “I’ve never seen him. The lawyer didn’t say anything about someone being with him.”

  “He looks like the man in the picture Papa had next to his bed.”

  Maria didn’t know when Luis had been in his father’s room, but she couldn’t deny that even at a distance, the rider looked like Rafe. “You go on downstairs. You don’t have to meet him by yourself,” Maria said when the boy looked stricken. “I’ll be down as soon as I tell your mother he’s here.”

  Maria wasn’t surprised to find Dolores sitting in front of her mirror, inspecting her makeup. “Rafe is here.”

  Dolores didn’t take her gaze off her reflection. “Do you think I have too much color? I hear Southern women often use buttermilk to keep their perfectly white complexions.”

  “You look beautiful, as always. Now come on downstairs. He’ll be at the door any minute.”

  “I need to put on more powder. I swear, this California sun can penetrate the walls.”

  “Stop imagining faults that aren’t there and come downstairs.”

  “I’ll be down soon.”

  Maria knew her sister wouldn’t stir from her room until she was satisfied with her appearance. Since that might take five minutes or half an hour, there was nothing to do but go down and meet Rafe Jerry by herself. It annoyed her that Dolores would neglect her role as hostess, but her sister had always left the unpleasant and uncomfortable duties to Maria. Maria figured it was part of the price she had to pay for being rescued from poverty. “Come down as soon as you can. You’re the only one he knows.”

  Dolores was too absorbed with her reflection to answer. Maria squared her shoulders and marched downstairs.

  Luis was standing inside the parlor just a few steps from the wide hall that ran through the center of the house. Maria held out her hand and forced herself to smile. “Your mother will be down in a minute. You and I will meet your brother together.”

  Taking Luis’s hand, she walked to the door. Luis opened it, and she stepped forward to greet the man who was coming up the steps. When he saw her, he frowned.

  “Who the hell are you, and where’s the bitch who ruined my life and sent my father to an early grave?”

  Chapter Two

  Maria’s initial impression was that she’d just met the most overwhelmingly handsome man she’d ever seen. He was tall, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and powerful thighs. The look in his eye, the way he carried himself, bespoke a man who was sure of himself. Unfortunately, he was also the rudest man she’d ever met.

  “My name is Maria de la Guerra,” she said with as much calm as she could command. “I’m Dolores Jerry’s sister. This is my nephew, Luis Jerry. I’m afraid I don’t know your name or that of your companion.”

  Rafe’s presence was so commanding, she’d almost forgotten his companion.

  “I expect Dolores makes you do all the work. Too bad you aren’t more forceful—but if you had been, Dolores wouldn’t have brought you here.”

  If the first speech had shocked Maria, the second rendered her mute.

  “Where is Dolores? Does she still sit in front of her mirror for hours before she’ll let anybody see her?” He glanced down at Luis, who was virtually cringing at her side. “You must be Luis.”

  That remark galvanized Maria. “Sir, I still don’t know your name, though I expect—”

  “I’m Rafe Jerry. Unless Dolores has thrown them out or burned them, there are enough pictures of me in the house for anybody to recognize me. May I come inside?”

  “Before he makes you so angry that you show him off the property, I want to introduce myself. I’m Rafe’s friend Broc Kincaid. He’s not always this rude.”

  Maria swung her gaze to the man standing next to Rafe, only to receive another shock. She could see that the perfection of the right side of the man’s face was counterbalanced by terrible scars on the left. Guessing they were the result of a war wound, she found it remarkable that a man of such outstanding looks could be so cheerful in the face of such disfigurement.

  “I’m Maria de la Guerra. This is my nephew, Luis Jerry.”

  Broc extended his hand to Luis. “Glad to meet you, young man. You look rather big to be just nine years old. I bet you end up being taller than Rafe. Then he’ll be your little brother.”

  Broc couldn’t have said anything that could have made Luis feel better about himself. He had lived in awe of Rafe most of his life.

  Maria moved back inside the door and to one side. “Please join me in the parlor. My sister will be down in a moment. May I offer you something to drink?”

  Broc flashed a smile that tugged at Maria’s heart. “Bless you. I’ve been thinking of beer for the last hour.”

  “We also have wine,” Maria said.

  Rafe surveyed the chairs in the room before crossing to a leather-covered captain’s chair with a high back. “Rancho los Alamitos was always known for its wine.” They waited for Maria to be seated. “We’ll have what ever you’re having.”

  Maria picked up a small bell on the table next to her and rang it. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “What’s Luis having?” Broc asked.

  Luis swallowed. “I would like some lemonade.”

  Rafe winked at Luis. “When I was your age, my father would occasionally give me wine or beer with enough water in it to make
it safe.”

  Uncertain how to respond, Luis made a feeble attempt to smile.

  “I don’t believe children should be given strong drink,” Maria told Rafe. “It encourages them to indulge in spirits far too early.”

  “Or takes the mystery out of it so they learn to drink with moderation.”

  She supposed that was possible, but all the men she knew drank too much. “We need refreshments for our visitors,” she said to Margarita when the young servant entered the room. “Luis and I will have lemonade.”

  “I will, too,” Broc said.

  Maria turned to Rafe. “What would you like?”

  “Water will be fine.”

  “We have a wide selection of wines, and your father’s liquor cabinet is just the way he left it.”

  Rafe put up his hands. “I seldom drink spirits.”

  “He’s not much fun at a party,” Broc said. “He remembers everything we do.”

  “Water for Mr. Jerry,” Maria said, dismissing Margarita. An awkward silence would have ensued if Rafe hadn’t asked Luis what he was learning. In a few minutes Rafe had coaxed more out of the boy than anybody but herself. Maria wondered if Rafe might be less of an ogre than Dolores had said. Maybe he’d changed over the years. When she thought Luis had talked enough, she intervened.

  “Did you have a difficult journey? I’ve never been out of the valley, but I’m told the places south of here can be extremely hot.”

  “You get used to the heat in Texas.”

  “What were you doing in Texas?”

  “We’re cowhands for a friend who has a large cattle ranch.”

  “We’re a little more than that,” Broc started to explain, only to be interrupted by Dolores’s entrance.

  Dolores paused in the doorway before surging into the parlor, the rich fabric of her dress rustling softly. Maria thought her sister’s lips were too scarlet, her cheeks too heavily rouged, her brows and lashes too dark, but she looked magnificent.

  “Rafe,” she exclaimed with a brilliant smile that lit up her face and caused her eyes to sparkle, “it’s so good to see you.” She advanced toward him, her hands outstretched. Broc got to his feet, but Rafe didn’t move.

  Maria was familiar with anger, but she’d never seen the white-hot rage on Rafe’s face. It was so virulent, even Dolores felt it. She appeared to stumble as though hit by something solid. She recovered but came to a stop a few feet from Rafe, her outstretched hands falling to her sides. She made a valiant attempt to recapture the smiling enthusiasm of her entrance, but the result was forced.

  “I see you’ve lost none of your looks.” His tone was sharp enough to cut. “What poor fool do you have your talons into now?”

  Maria had never approved of the way her sister ignored her husband and flirted with handsome men, but she was proud of the way Dolores regained her poise.

  “It’s flattering to know you think I’m still attractive.” Her smile was back in place. “You always were a very critical judge.”

  “I was nineteen and a fool.”

  “I haven’t been nineteen for a very long time,” Broc said, “and I still think you’re beautiful.”

  When Broc spoke, Dolores turned, screamed, and stumbled backward. That brought Rafe to his feet with a growl of fury so fierce, Luis clutched Maria’s hand. Dolores put one hand to her throat in a dramatic gesture, leaned against a table for support, and managed a tremulous smile.

  “My God, you scared me half to death. I didn’t see you when I came into the room.”

  The welcoming smile remained plastered on Broc’s face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Of course not. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you, but I was so excited to see Rafe I didn’t have eyes for anyone else.”

  “This is Broc Kincaid. He works with Rafe in Texas.” Maria hoped her interruption would give Dolores time to recover her composure.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Dolores was careful not to look at Broc when she spoke. The way her fingers nervously picked at her heavy silver and turquoise necklace belied her words.

  Maria was irritated when Dolores chose a chair so Broc was out of her line of vision. “I was sorry you couldn’t be here for your father’s funeral,” she said to Rafe, “but we didn’t know how to contact you. The lawyer said it was the merest good fortune that you saw the notice in the Chicago newspaper.”

  “I didn’t. It was sent to me anonymously. I wouldn’t have responded if Pilar hadn’t threatened to do it herself.”

  “Who is Pilar? Are you married?”

  Maria was embarrassed that Dolores should expose herself so obviously. She might as well have stated that she was terrified Rafe might be married and thus beyond the influence of her beauty.

  “She’s Cade’s wife, the man I work for.”

  “You shouldn’t be working for anybody. You’re a wealthy man.”

  “You’ve always valued people in terms of dollars.” Rafe’s words were infused with disgust, but they appeared to leave Dolores unscathed.

  “A woman has to look out for her children.”

  “If you love your son so deeply that you’d make his welfare the deciding factor in choosing a husband, why is he huddled against your sister rather than you?”

  “He adores his aunt. Besides, she’s closer to him in age than I am.”

  “You’re not his playmate, Dolores. You’re his mother.”

  Dolores pouted. “Why are you being so mean when we’re all so glad to see you? You have no idea how difficult your father’s will has made everything.”

  “Then take consolation in the fact that it’s made my life even more miserable.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Because it’s forced me into contact again with a woman I despise.”

  Dolores picked at one of the crystals on her dress. “I know you were unhappy when I married your father instead of you, but I was an impressionable young girl, overawed by a handsome and powerful man.”

  “You were a scheming fortune hunter who took advantage of a man grieving over the death of his wife.”

  “I’m older now and have had time to see things more clearly.”

  Rafe’s response was forestalled by Margarita’s return with the beverages. By the time everyone had been served, some of the tension had dissipated. Broc said he’d never been to California before and asked if it was always so hot. He found the weather surprising considering they’d crossed mountains still covered with snow.

  “We get virtually no rain in the valley during the summer,” Rafe said to Broc. “After the spring rains are over, we depend on snowmelt to carry us through the summer and fall. We also get water from wells that tap into underground rivers flowing from the mountains.”

  Maria wasn’t surprised at Rafe’s knowledge of the valley’s climate. Both Juan and Rosana had said Rafe had been doing as much work on the ranch as his father before he left.

  “Mr. Fielder gives me an allowance so small it would hardly keep a child alive.” Bored by the conversation, Dolores had almost finished her glass of wine. “He told me I have no power to make any decisions concerning the ranch, that I can’t even order food for the house hold. I told him it was ridiculous, that a wife should have the right to make decisions about her own property. That’s when he told me I didn’t have any property, that Warren had left everything to you and Luis. When I told him that as Luis’s mother I could make decisions for him, he told me the will had made you and Maria his joint guardians.”

  Rafe stared expressionlessly at Dolores. “What’s so hard to understand about it?”

  “The whole thing!” Dolores exclaimed. “I tried to make Mr. Fielder understand that your father was sick, that he would never have written any of those things if he’d been in his right mind.”

  “I interpreted the way he wrote the will to mean he was in his right mind for the first time in ten years.”

  Any woman less self-centered than her sister would have been daunted by Rafe’s words.

&nbs
p; “He wasn’t,” Dolores insisted. “He would hardly look at Luis. I don’t remember the last time he spoke to me.”

  “Apparently his lapse in judgment was only temporary,” Rafe said. “I wish I had known.”

  Maria couldn’t decide whether he spoke with regret or anger. He appeared to be a very self-contained man. She wondered how someone as cheerful as Broc would want him for a friend. She found it nearly impossible to imagine Rafe laughing.

  “Warren never did recover his right mind. It was all very sad and I was heartbroken, but one has to go on.” She flashed the smile that had dazzled so many men before. “I have to think of my son.”

  Maria was certain this callous speech would wring a response from Rafe, but he continued to watch her sister with the unblinking gaze of a predator. Just when Dolores opened her mouth to continue, Rafe did speak.

  “You’ve never had any consideration for anyone but yourself in your entire life.”

  “That’s not true.” Dolores’s indignation was genuine. “I thought of your mother when she brought me here to comfort her during her illness. And of you and your father when she died.”

  “Only of which one had the most money.”

  Dolores plowed ahead, ignoring Rafe’s remark. “I thought of Luis when I asked Maria to move here and help me take care of him. I thought of your father when he was sick—I would gladly have stayed by his bedside night and day—but I’m convinced he was afraid I’d catch his malady.” She sniffed, and a tear appeared on her eyelid before it swelled and rolled down her cheek.

  With a look of fury that was frightening in its intensity, Rafe surged to his feet. “I’m going to take a ride. It’s been so long since I was here, I don’t know how much of the ranch I remember.”

  Dolores asked, “When will you be back?”

  “I’m not coming back to night.”

  “Of course you are. It’s your home. I’m sure your friend would prefer to stay in Cíbola.” Dolores didn’t look at Broc. “He’d be bored here with nothing to do but watch me embroider and Maria make lace.” Her laugh was light and transparently insincere.