Someone Like You (Night Riders)

by Leigh Greenwood

Rafe turned to Dolores. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned about Broc’s entertainment.”

  “I don’t mind staying in Cíbola,” Broc said. “We have other business to attend to, and we can’t do it from here.”

  Rafe’s gaze never left Dolores. “That business can wait. I need you here.”

  “Cade said—”

  “I know what Cade said.”

  “What can your friend possibly do that someone who knows the ranch can’t do better?” It was bad enough that Dolores couldn’t look at Broc, but she should at least have used his name.

  “He can provide me with the companionship of one person I know I can trust.” He turned to Maria. “What time do you dine?”

  “Why didn’t you ask me that?” Dolores was affronted.

  “Because I was certain you were still too brokenhearted to have the energy to make arrangements for a meal you were probably too dispirited to eat.”

  “I have to eat. I owe it to Luis to keep my strength up.”

  “We dine at seven thirty,” Maria said before her sister could make more of a fool of herself. “Is that acceptable?”

  “Seven thirty will be fine. Does Luis occupy my old bedroom?”

  “No. He sleeps in the room next to mine.”

  “I’ll sleep in my father’s room. Broc can have my old room. Will it be difficult to get them ready?”

  “Rosana has cleaned your room faithfully ever since you left. She has always believed you would return.”

  “So Rosana is still here.” She thought she saw a softening in his eyes, but the velvet curtains at the windows kept out the light as well as the heat. “How about Juan?”

  “He and Miguel are both here. Juan has filled Luis’s head with stories about you.” This time she was certain of the softening in his eyes. That surprised her as much as his change in attitude when he talked about the ranch.

  “I’m sure he’s exaggerated my accomplishments and ignored my failures.”

  “He says you can do anything,” Luis said.

  Luis had been so quiet, she’d almost forgotten he was present.

  “My father used to say Juan and Rosana spoiled me rotten.” Rafe’s smile was so genuine, Luis managed a faint smile in response.

  “Would you like me to show you to your room?” Maria was sure he didn’t need her help, but it was polite to offer.

  “Thank you, but I remember the way. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Juan will press your evening clothes,” Dolores said. “I’m sure they’re wrinkled from being packed so long.”

  “I didn’t bring evening clothes. I haven’t worn any since I left here ten years ago.”

  “Warren never came to the table unless he was dressed properly,” Dolores complained after Rafe and Broc left.

  “Warren hadn’t just arrived from Texas,” Maria responded. “What are you trying to do? First you act as if this is the return of a prodigal son. Next you act as though he’s still in love with you. Then you end by trying to send his friend away and insist on evening clothes for dinner. Are you trying to make him dislike us even more than he already does?”

  “How can you stand to look at his friend?” Dolores’s body quivered with disgust. “He makes my skin crawl.”

  “I think he’s nice,” Luis said.

  “So do I.” Maria was surprised Luis would speak up for a man he’d just met. Normally the boy was reluctant to voice an opinion contrary to his mother’s. “And he has a name. Common civility requires you use it.”

  “How can I be civil around him when looking at him makes me feel unwell?”

  “Broc was probably wounded in the war. He must have been remarkably handsome at one time. I think he’s quite extraordinary to have accepted his scars so well.”

  “Then you look at him and use his name.” Dolores appeared to think for a moment, a slight furrow marring her perfect brow. “I think Rafe is still in love with me. I wouldn’t mind being married to him. He has a bit of a temper, but he used to worship me.”

  “I doubt he feels that way now.” Maria knew it was useless to argue with her sister when she got an idea in her head. She hoped that given time, Dolores would see reason, but for the moment she hoped Dolores wouldn’t do anything to set Rafe against them.

  She wondered how he would react to the servants. Over the years, they’d filled Luis’s head with tales of Rafe’s limitless abilities, trying to inspire Luis to grow into the man Rafe had been when he left. Maria hoped he wouldn’t become anything like his brother. Rafe was physically very appealing—she hated to admit that her first response had been one of attraction—but she was at a loss to understand why Warren had decided to make his son heir to half the ranch, executor of the estate, and Luis’s guardian. How could he trust a man who had raped Dolores, impregnating her with a child Warren had been forced to call his own in order to protect Dolores and Luis from a life of disgrace?

  She could tell Luis had been powerfully impressed by Rafe, but she intended to do everything in her power to shield the boy from his influence. His behavior was as shameful as his body was fine-looking.

  She had to stop thinking like that. Not even Rafe’s good looks could compensate for the blackness of his past deeds.

  Rafe wasn’t prepared for the welter of emotions that swamped him when he entered his father’s bedroom. The huge mahogany bed, the Turkish carpet that muffled his footsteps, the fireplace with the blue-veined marble surround, the curtained windows that looked out over the foothills of the neighboring mountains…For ten years his memories of his father had been dominated by their last confrontation, when angry words and fierce accusations had ended with his father ordering him out of the house. Not even the horrors of a brutal war had blunted the edge of pain in his heart or excised the memory of those words.

  He’d been prepared to feel renewed anger at the man who’d broken a bond he had thought was unbreakable. He wasn’t prepared for a flood of images from his childhood: waking up early and pouncing on his still-sleeping father; sitting next to the fire on miserable, cold rainy winter days and talking of the things they would do when summer came; reading together while the wind howled outside. It was in this room that the bond of love had been forged and tempered into steel. Or at least he’d thought so.

  “I never expected such a big house.” Broc had followed Rafe.

  “My father built it for my mother. She was from a wealthy family of Spanish ancestry. He wanted her to be proud of her home.”

  “I grew up in a house so small, I had to share a room and a bed with three brothers. You must have had a powerful reason to leave all this.”

  Rafe had never told anyone why he’d left California, but he felt it was time to tell Broc. “My mother invited Dolores to be her companion when she got sick. I was nineteen, idealistic, and Dolores was even more beautiful than she is now. I fell hopelessly in love with her.” Unwilling to face Broc while he exposed this painful part of his past, Rafe walked over to a window that looked out over a small creek. The water sparkled in the sunlight as it tumbled over rocks on its way to the flat valley floor that would take it to the Sacramento River. In summer its waters were used to irrigate the rows of poplars and elms that shaded the house from the fierce summer sun. “She said she returned my love but devoted herself to consoling my father. Fool that I was, I thought she was wonderful for giving so much time to an old man grieving over his wife. It never occurred to me that she had set her sights on marrying him instead of me. I probably wouldn’t have believed Dolores and my father were having an affair if I hadn’t caught them in bed.”

  Chapter Three

  He could still remember feeling as if his heart had stopped beating even as the blood pounded in his temples so hard he could barely think. He turned to Broc. “I was ready to forgive her, to put all the blame on my father, until I learned she was already pregnant. She had managed to divert my father’s attention so artfully from my mother’s death that he felt she was necessary to his happiness. When he announced
he was going to marry her, I lost control.” The pieces of a porcelain statuette he’d thrown at the fireplace had been cleared away long ago, but the gouge where it had hit the oak mantel remained. “I don’t remember half the things I said to him and Dolores. I didn’t care what I said, whom I hurt. I’m not sure whether my father threw me out or whether I left. It probably doesn’t matter.”

  Rafe had expected to feel uncomfortable after this revelation, to feel exposed, but he felt better now that someone else knew the truth.

  “You must have had plenty of relatives you could have stayed with.”

  “I hated myself for being so stupid. I went to Mexico and worked as an ordinary vaquero until the war started.”

  Broc whistled. “After being the pampered son of a rich man, that must have been hard.”

  “I was too angry to care.”

  A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of a middle-aged man carrying Rafe’s saddlebags. The moment Juan saw Rafe, his face lit up with a smile that made him look a de cade younger.

  “I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Juan said. “Never in this room.”

  Rafe’s spirits lifted as he crossed the room to greet one of the family retainers who’d known him since his birth. He would have embraced Juan if Rosana hadn’t burst through the doorway. As tall and ample as Juan was short and thin, she enveloped Rafe in a bosomy embrace. Words tumbled out of her mouth so rapidly, Rafe couldn’t understand half of what she said.

  “I prayed to the Virgin every night for your return. This is your home. I knew you wouldn’t stay away forever.”

  Rafe couldn’t tell her he didn’t intend to remain. She’d learn that soon enough.

  “When Margarita told me who was in the parlor, I broke into tears.” Rosana supported her assertion by breaking into tears once more. “I would have brought the drinks, but I knew I’d probably drop the tray.” She released Rafe and held him at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.” She studied his face a moment before saying, “The years have been hard on you, but you’ve gained some peace.”

  He had before he’d received the letter from Mr. Fielder.

  “We’ve needed you here,” Juan said. “Miguel has complained of your absence every day.”

  “He had my father. He didn’t need me.”

  “Your father lost interest in the ranch after you left,” Rosana said. “The last years before he died he hardly left this room.” She pointed to a small picture on the table next to his father’s bed. “I’d bring him his dinner and find him so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t know I’d entered the room even though I’d knocked first.”

  “That’s not like him.” His father had always been active.

  “It’s all the fault of that strumpet.” Rosana’s voice was like a hiss. Her black eyes flashed and her mouth grew hard.

  Rafe had wished many times he could have taken back the words he’d spoken to the man he’d loved so much. After a few months in Mexico, he probably would have gone back and begged his father’s forgiveness, but he knew his father would still require Rafe to treat Dolores with respect. Rafe couldn’t do that. The hurt had burned too deep.

  “If it hadn’t been for Maria, I’d have left long ago,” Rosana admitted.

  “Why? The same blood runs in their veins. You can’t trust either of them.” When she’d opened the door to him, he’d found himself staring into the darkest brown eyes he’d ever seen. She was pretty, but it wasn’t her attractiveness that struck him so much as the look of hard-held anger in her eyes. He hadn’t known who she was or why she should be angry. He had been the one wronged.

  “I thought the same thing at first, but she’s shouldered the responsibility of Luis’s education, the running of the house-hold, and seeing that your father was comfortable during his illness.”

  It was to her credit that she had handled herself well enough to win Rosana’s confidence, but she was still Dolores’s sister. “She has a well feathered nest. I’m sure she doesn’t want to lose it.”

  “Everybody likes her,” Juan said. “She doesn’t take advantage of her position the way her sister does.”

  “I don’t know what she’s like, but she can’t be half bad,” Broc said. “Did you see the way Luis pushed up against her when he was frightened?”

  “She’s the only one who gave him any attention,” Juan said. “His mother can’t be bothered and his father couldn’t bear the sight of him.”

  “Why?” Rafe couldn’t imagine his father turning against a child.

  Rosana rested her hand on Rafe’s forearm. “I think it’s because the child stood for everything that had gone wrong after your mother died.”

  “None of it is the boy’s fault. It was Dolores. And my father,” Rafe added reluctantly.

  “It’ll be up to you to make Luis believe that,” Rosana said. “His mother has brought him up to fear you.”

  “Why?”

  “How would I know?” Rosana replied. “She only talks to me when she wants me to do something for her.”

  Rafe didn’t plan to be here long enough to make his brother believe anything. Luis could have the ranch. Dolores and her sister could live in all the luxury they wanted. As much as he liked Rosana and Juan, he didn’t intend to let them draw him back into living at the ranch.

  “If you intend to return in time for dinner, we’d better get going.”

  Rosana and Juan looked from Broc to Rafe.

  “We’re going to ride over the ranch. It’s been a long time since I was here.”

  “Take Miguel with you,” Juan said. “He’s been hoping you’d come back for years.”

  Rafe didn’t want to see Miguel because the old man would try to get him interested in the ranch all over again, but he’d take Miguel with him because it would break his heart to be left behind. It had been Miguel who taught Rafe to love the land, to love planting crops and watching them grow, to look for ways to improve the quality of the livestock. His father had been more concerned with business. Their diverse interests had meshed into a smoothly working partnership.

  Until it had been destroyed by Dolores’s greed and ambition.

  “You can’t seriously think Rafe is still in love with you, that he will marry you.” Having dressed for dinner, made sure Luis was fed and in his room, and that preparations for dinner were complete, Maria had gone to her sister’s room. Dolores had dragged out more than a dozen dresses, all discarded in her search for the perfect gown for the evening. Maria started returning the dresses to the closet. “He’s still furious at you.” After what he’d done, Maria couldn’t understand why Dolores would even want Rafe back.

  “I refuse to wear mourning.” Dolores flung a dress from her in disgust. “I hate black.”

  “You don’t have to wear black, but choose something in good taste.” Maria frowned over a lilac creation, which fit her sister’s body far too snugly.

  Dolores didn’t avert her gaze from the dresses piled on the bed. “Rafe is still angry I married his father, but he’ll get over it.”

  Maria picked up an emerald green silk dress and put it away. “How can you forgive Rafe for raping you to keep you from marrying his father?”

  “That was a long time ago.” Dolores hunched her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Maria was used to her sister’s vagaries, but this was too much. “How can you say that? That man stole your honor.”

  Dolores avoided her gaze. “He was in love and desperate.” She held up a ruby red velvet dress and studied her reflection in the mirror. “What’s the point of holding it against him now?”

  “Because any man who would commit rape is untrustworthy. It’s impossible to tell what he might do the next time he loses his temper.”

  “He’s too old to do anything like that again. He’s like his father. He will grow calm and indifferent and life will be as it has always been.”

  Dolores sometimes indulged in absurd fantasies, but Maria was a realist. Her sister was probably hoping
Rafe was still in love with her because that would be the easiest way to ensure her future. As soon as she realized Rafe disliked her too much to ever consider such an alternative, she’d come to her senses. Maria fretted over what Dolores would decide to do then.

  Maria had always wished Luis had a brother he could respect, admire, learn from, but that wasn’t the case according to Dolores, and Maria had made up her mind to keep them apart as much as possible. She didn’t doubt that Juan’s stories were true. Rafe had impressed her as a man who could do anything he wanted, exactly the kind of man a boy like Luis would come to worship. With his father absent from his life and the men who were drawn to Dolores a dissolute set, he had no male role model he could admire. She was determined Rafe wouldn’t be that person.

  Why couldn’t Rafe be like Broc? Broc had suffered a terrible loss, one that was physically as well as emotionally painful, yet had managed to remain cheerful and smiling. She could only imagine what a devastatingly handsome man he must have been. It didn’t make her any happier with herself to realize she preferred Rafe’s brand of looks.

  “What do you think of this dress?” Dolores held up a cream satin dress that was more suitable for a girl than a mature woman. “It was once Rafe’s favorite dress.”

  “You were nineteen then, not twenty nine.”

  “I can still wear it.”

  “It makes you look like you’re trying to be a girl again. You’ll look silly in it.”

  “Rafe won’t think so.”

  Maria was fearful that silly wouldn’t be the word that sprang into Rafe’s mind. “It’s inappropriate.”

  Dolores grinned, pleased. “Your opposition makes me certain it’s the very dress I ought to wear.”

  Maria threw up her hands. She was positive Rafe’s affections couldn’t be resurrected, not even by a cream satin dress that lent Dolores an air of youth and innocence, but her sister would have to discover that for herself. “Don’t be late coming down. Men hate to have their dinner go cold because a woman couldn’t make up her mind which dress to wear.”