Amazingly, Rafe never lost his temper. He achieved this miracle by ignoring Dolores. Luis soon followed his example. That had left Maria to bear the brunt of Dolores’s complaints about Rafe’s treatment of her, and her needling questions about whether Maria was in love with Rafe and if he had kissed her again.
“Luis needs to go to bed now,” she told Rafe. “You can fill him in on all the details tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” Luis protested. “Broc says I’m not a little boy anymore.”
“I don’t think Maria puts much faith in my opinions,” Broc commented.
“Are you going to bed?” Luis asked Broc.
“I think so.”
“Are you going to bed, too?” Luis asked Rafe.
“Not just yet.” He looked at Maria. “Maria and I are going for a walk.”
Chapter Seventeen
Maria hoped her expression didn’t reflect her shock at Rafe’s statement. She hadn’t been alone with him since the evening Dolores had burst in on them in his father’s room. She had tried to make sure there wouldn’t be any reason for anyone to accuse them of impropriety again. She had thought Rafe felt the same.
She scolded herself for immediately thinking Rafe’s intentions might be romantic. He was her employer. She was his house keeper. They were joint guardians of Luis. There had to be at least a dozen things he could want to talk to her about that had nothing to do with their feelings for each other. Maybe she ought to change that to her feelings for him. He might consider a few innocent kisses merely an amusement for two people who were attracted to each other.
She felt very much at a disadvantage when he looked at her with that smile that always caused the muscles in her abdomen to tighten.
“I have to put Luis to bed.” Taking care of Luis was part of the job for which she was now being paid. She was nervous about leaving him alone in a hotel room. What if another of Dolores’s drunken admirers tried to kidnap him?
Broc glanced at Rafe with a raised eyebrow before turning to Maria. “I’ll see the little brat is tucked safely in bed.”
“I’m not little, and I’m not a brat,” Luis informed him.
“Maybe I’ll even read him a story to put him to sleep.”
Luis’s eyes danced with excitement. “Will you tell me more stories about Texas?”
“I’m not sure I know many more stories.”
Luis looked disappointed, then added. “What about the war?”
Broc’s expressions sobered. “I think I can remember a few more stories about Texas.”
“If you’re really good,” Rafe said to Luis, “maybe we can talk Maria into letting you enter the pony race.”
Luis practically bounced with excitement. “Can I?” he begged Maria.
She’d have to talk to Rafe about pulling surprises on her, especially when saying no would make her seem like the meanest woman in California. “We haven’t talked about that,” she told Luis. “It could be dangerous.”
“Rafe says I’m a good rider.”
Clever of Luis to put her on the defensive because of her lack of knowledge about riding. That was something else she’d have to bring up with Rafe. “I’ve never ridden in a race,” Maria said, “but I’m sure it’s very different from riding around the ranch.”
“It is,” Rafe said, “but Luis will be fine as long as he remembers everything I’ve taught him.”
“I can stare down the other riders,” Broc offered with a wink. “With this face, they’ll be so scared they’ll let Luis win.”
Luis looked unsure whether to laugh. “I don’t want to win unfairly,” the boy said with surprising maturity. “I don’t really care about winning. I just want to race. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” That was all Maria was willing to concede at the moment. “But you have to get a good night’s sleep for me to consider it.”
“I’ll make sure he’s tucked in bed and snoring like a lumberjack in half an hour.”
Luis looked indignant. “I don’t snore.” His expression changed. “What’s a lumberjack?”
Broc put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your education has been sadly neglected.” He cast Maria a mischievous grin. “I see I need to fill in some of the gaps.”
“Remember he’s just nine,” Maria warned.
Broc only grinned more broadly. “A boy’s education can’t begin too soon.”
Feeling a little uneasy, she turned to Rafe. “You don’t think he’ll—”
“Broc likes to tease people.”
Now she felt guilty for questioning Broc’s integrity. It looked like her education had been neglected as well. She had no idea what to do with men like Broc and Rafe. Did she have any idea what to do with any man?
In the traditional wealthy house hold of Spanish heritage, marriages were arranged by the parents. A young girl would be married by the time she was fifteen to a man of her parents’ choosing.
The loss of her family’s wealth and her father’s suicide had meant that Maria’s life had taken a different path, but she had been happy living at Rancho los Alamitos, bringing up Luis, taking care of the house hold for Dolores and Warren.
“You might want to get a shawl.” Rafe’s voice brought her out of her abstraction. “It can get cool and damp at night.”
Entering the room she would share with Luis, she started to show Broc where to find everything the boy needed for bed. That incensed Luis, who announced he was perfectly capable of showing Broc himself. She watched with amusement as he systematically took out everything he needed and carefully explained its function to Broc. She wanted to laugh because it was funny, but she felt sad because her little boy was growing up. He would always love her, but he would never need her in the same way he once had.
“I think we can handle everything else ourselves,” Broc said to her. “I don’t want you to keep Rafe waiting.”
She was sure she blushed, and that annoyed her. Deciding there was no response that wouldn’t cause further speculation, she chose a shawl. “Don’t keep Luis up too late telling stories. And don’t make them too exciting, or he’ll never fall asleep.”
Broc promised to have Luis in bed and asleep before she and Rafe reached the end of the street. Rafe was waiting in the hall when she stepped out of her room.
“Giving Broc some final instructions?”
“He doesn’t know anything about children, and Luis is still a little boy.”
“Broc grew up the oldest in a family of nine. I expect he knows enough to put Luis to bed.”
She would not blush for her ignorance. It was Broc’s fault he’d never said anything about his family. “It isn’t that he doesn’t know how. It’s that he enjoys telling stories too much, and Luis likes hearing them so much, he won’t let Broc stop when it comes time.”
Rafe put his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the hall that led to the lobby. “It won’t hurt Luis to stay up late. Festival occurs only once a year.”
She wondered if Rafe would come back next year at festival time. “It’s a good thing, with you encouraging him to risk his neck in a pony race.”
Rafe didn’t respond until they’d crossed the lobby and emerged from the hotel. “So now it’s my fault he’s in danger.”
She could tell from the tone of his voice he was teasing her. She wasn’t sure she liked that.
“What events do you plan to enter tomorrow?” she asked.
Rafe’s amused look served only to irritate her further. “Probably a race, performing some tricks, and bronco riding.”
“All in one day?” The list seemed like a lot to her.
“They last only a few minutes each.”
It only took seconds for something to go wrong. She didn’t understand why men had to unnecessarily court danger just to show they were men.
As they walked along the street, she realized that Cíbola looked very different at night. The town throbbed with life. Even tho
ugh it was dark, people filled the streets, some just walking as she and Rafe were. Others talking in doorways and courtyards. Still others eating on tables that had been set outside. The feeble light from the crescent moon was supplemented by multicolored lanterns lining the street, sitting on tables, and hanging from tree limbs or ropes strung from windows. Rich reds, brilliant yellows, and warm oranges gave the festival costumes a cheerfulness that was reflected in the laughter and excitement that filled the air.
Women strolled by, their hair coiled in tight knots and adorned with flowers, jeweled combs, or covered with lace. Many wore lockets at their throats and heavily embroidered shawls draped over their alabaster shoulders. Men were dressed with equal flamboyance in embroidered coats and vests sporting silver buttons, and flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hats decorated with colorful bands. They wore tight-fitting calzoneras of every color with red sashes tied around their waists. The sounds of violins, guitars, and voices raised in song competed with one another, first one then the other gaining prominence, only to fade out and be replaced.
The spicy smells of food of every description—tomatoes, garlic, beef, onions, chicken—filled the night air. Feeling a slight chill despite Rafe’s nearness, Maria pulled her shawl more tightly around her.
“Are you cold?” Rafe asked. “Do you want my serape?”
Maria couldn’t remember Rafe having ever worn a serape, a blanketlike garment that could be draped across the chest and thrown over the shoulders, with the ends falling down the back or wrapped around the body like a cloak. He always wore the shirt, vest, and pants that Broc said were cowboy gear in Texas. She wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but his usual attire showcased his raw masculinity better than anything else.
“Thank you, but I’m warm enough.”
She wondered where he was taking her, what he wanted to talk about, why he couldn’t have done it in the hotel. They came to the bridge that crossed the creek dividing Cíbola in two.
“I remember the spring the creek flooded so badly it washed the bridge away,” Rafe commented. “They found pieces scattered all the way to the Sacramento River.”
The creeks always flooded when the snow melted in the spring. “What did you want to talk with me about?” she asked. “If it’s about Luis or managing the house, we could have done it in the hotel.”
“It’s not about either.”
“What then?”
“Do I have to want to talk about anything in particular? Can’t I just enjoy being with you?”
Maria’s heart beat so rapidly, she felt breathless. “You’ve been with me all day.”
“I wasn’t with you. I was with everybody.”
She understood. Hadn’t she been trying to avoid being with him by surrounding herself with people? “Why would you want to be alone with me?”
“I enjoy your company.”
“Really? Why?”
Rafe looked vaguely amused. “Do I have to have a reason?”
She opened her mouth to say of course, but closed it when she realized she couldn’t say exactly what it was about Rafe that attracted her. “Most people do have a reason, that’s all.”
“What kind of reason?”
She started to mention the obvious but was certain Rafe wasn’t talking about that. He wasn’t attracted to Dolores despite her beauty. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I haven’t known many men.”
“The only women I’ve known even reasonably well are Dolores and Cade’s wife, Pilar. I completely misjudged Dolores, and I was never romantically interested in Pilar. That doesn’t make me much of an expert.”
Why had she always assumed he had wide experience with women? Was it his confidence, his decisiveness, his habit of command?
“You might say I’m trying to learn about women by being with you.”
Maria felt bereft of speech. His words could have so many possible unspoken meanings…or absolutely none. She reminded herself that Rafe would be returning to Texas. If she had any sense, she’d go back to the hotel right now.
To give herself time to think, she walked onto the bridge. The water in the creek below tumbled over polished stones, eddied in twists of the creek bed, and pooled in places undisturbed by rocks. Against the backdrop of the celebration in Cíbola it seemed silent, going on its way without comment or notice of its surroundings. That was a lot like her life over the past ten years. She’d filled her days with her love for Luis and her house keeping duties. She’d grown from a girl into a woman. She might never have noticed the changes in herself if it hadn’t been for Rafe. But she had noticed the difference, and she now knew that she wanted things she’d never wanted before. “Maybe you ought to find a Texas woman. I doubt they’re the same as Californians. There’s a lot of Spanish blood in our veins.”
Rafe had followed her onto the bridge. “One of Pilar’s grandfathers was French and the other Spanish. Her grandmother is this fierce Spanish lady who tolerates me only because my mother was part of the Vallejo family.”
“My father was Spanish; yours was an Anglo.”
“Yours committed suicide, and mine closed himself up in his room until he died. I suggest we forget all our ancestors and think only of ourselves.”
That was exactly what she was trying not to do. She needed to conclude this conversation and get back to the hotel. But if Rafe didn’t have anything specific to say to her, only wanted to enjoy her company, there was no easy way to bring the evening to an end without just walking away.
“Why do you find it so hard to be around me?”
She’d never expected him to be so blunt. She didn’t know how to answer his question honestly without revealing too much about her own feelings. “We’re so different.”
“I’m not talking about that. You’ve avoided me ever since Dolores accused me of trying to compromise you.”
“Isn’t that reason enough?”
“No. You were kissing me back.”
It was foolish to think he wouldn’t have realized that. “That’s all the more reason to keep our distance from each other.”
“Because of one little kiss?”
“In my culture, any action can be misinterpreted when it’s between a man and woman who aren’t married.”
“Did you misinterpret that kiss?”
“I can’t say. I don’t know how you meant it.”
“My meaning wasn’t complicated. I like you and wanted to kiss you. What did you think I meant?”
Rafe didn’t play fair. Men weren’t supposed to be so direct. Honesty put a woman on the spot, gave her little or no room to be evasive, to keep from committing herself. She didn’t have the same freedom as Dolores had as a widow, but she was old enough to make her own decisions.
“My experience of men is very limited,” she confessed. “I’ve never had to sort through so many conflicting emotions.” Rafe reached out, took her hand. She knew she should resist but didn’t.
“Are you going to turn me away?” he murmured.
Maria couldn’t breathe. Rafe hadn’t asked anything of her, yet she felt he’d asked everything. Any answer could be the wrong one—for her and for him. “I can’t give you an answer until I know what you’re asking.”
Rafe seemed to sense her confusion, her anxiety. He gently rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I was only going to ask if I could put my arm around you, maybe kiss you again.”
Only put his arm around her, maybe kiss her again! Didn’t he realize granting him permission to do those things was the same as turning her world upside down? “You say that as if it’s no more important than asking whether I want to go for a ride.” It was difficult to read Rafe’s expression in the shadowy light, but she could feel the increase in tension through his grip on her hand.
“Then I didn’t say it right. I like you very much. I’m not good with words, so I can’t explain that because of things that have happened to me in the past, I’m not sure exactly what my feelings are.”
Odd that she should be more a
ttracted to a man who wasn’t sure of his feelings for her than men who knew exactly what they wanted. She had questions of her own that needed answers, and she hadn’t found any of them in the privacy of her thoughts. She didn’t want to risk her heart, but she suspected it was already too late for that.
“I like you, too.” Why was that so hard to say? It was only four words. She told Luis she loved him a dozen times a day. What was so difficult about admitting that she liked Rafe? Because loving Luis and liking Rafe weren’t the same. They were miles apart. A universe apart. One emotion filled her with happiness, the other with terror and confusion. “One kiss,” she agreed, “but that’s all.”
“You’re going to limit me to one?”
She’d been kissed only once in her life—by Rafe. But that one experience had been enough for her to know how powerful a kiss could be. She felt herself flush. “I’m not trying to be coy.”
His grip on her hand tightened and he pulled her closer. “I enjoy being with you. I have from that first night.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips.
“I was angry at having to come back and face Dolores, and I was irritated I was attracted to you. I was certain you were like Dolores.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Lots of things, even the way you looked out for Dolores although she took advantage of you.”
She felt guilty she hadn’t recognized sooner that her sister was a badly flawed woman. “I tried to make Dolores see reason, but I wasn’t very successful.”
“That wasn’t your responsibility. Now, I don’t want to talk about Dolores anymore. I’d much rather talk about you.”
Maria didn’t know what he could find to say about her. She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t young, she wasn’t sophisticated, and she had never been anywhere or done anything. “That will be a short conversation.”
“I disagree. You’re a complicated woman, and I love your smile.”
What could any man say about a smile that would take even half a minute? She didn’t know how to tell him she wasn’t amused, but he seemed to sense her change of mood.
Someone Like You (Night Riders) Page 19