He admired her, yes. He appreciated a woman with courage, one who wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, or to him. Respect was a good thing in a marriage. That and friendship, along with a good dose of lust, was all he needed.
He would keep it at that, he assured himself. He wouldn’t let her get any closer to him than she was already,
Then he glanced across at her, saw her bright, excited smile as she pointed at a beautiful goshawk soaring among the cloudsabove them. Smiling in return, he felt his heart expanding inside him and knew he was already in far deeper than he had wished.
***
Sheriff Jeremy Layton rode his tall bay gelding up in front of the de la Guerra hacienda but didn’t get down from his horse. It was the custom among the rancheros not to dismount unless you were invited. He hadn’t been, and at this point, Jeremy had no reason to behave inhospitably toward Ramon de la Guerra or anyone in his family, who were, after all, highly respected members of the community.
Still… Fletcher Austin had begun to have suspicions the don might be involved with El Dragón. Austin was a lot of things: hard-nosed, ruthless, even a little bit greedy.
But no one ever said he was a fool.
A stout, dark-skinned man walked toward him, mid-thirties, thick-chested with a bushy handlebar mustache.
“Buenas tardes,Senor Sheriff. You are looking for Don Ramon?”
His name was Mariano, Jeremy recalled. One of the don’s top vaqueros. “I thought I might have a word with him. He around?”
“No, senor. The don is not here.”
“Then perhaps I could speak to his wife.”
“Again, I am sorry. If you would like to speak to the senora… or perhaps to Don Ramon’s aunt…”
“Would you mind telling me where the don and his bride have gone?”
He hesitated only a moment, then he grinned. “A wedding trip, senor. A young bride is often shy, no? There are things the don may wish to teach her… things that are best learned away from the knowing looks of family and friends.”
Or perhaps the don had already taught her those things in the mountains, as Fletcher Austin believed. “Be sure to give themmy congratulations,” Jeremy said. “Tell them I’ll be dropping by to see them again very soon.”
“Si,I will tell them, Sheriff Layton.”
He scanned the house and grounds, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Mind if I water my horse before I go?”
“No, no, of course not. It was rude of me not to suggest it. Perhaps I can get you something as well… coffee or chocolate… or maybe something to eat?”
“No thanks. Just the water for my horse.”
Mariano nodded and led the way to a moss-covered watering trough. Jeremy let the horse drink deeply, sucking the cool water into his muzzle, then backed him away and settled more deeply into the saddle. As he touched the brim of his hat in farewell, he caught the shimmer of curtains moving inside the house, but no one came to the door. Not very friendly.
Then again, with the don away the two old women might have second thoughts about talking to a man they didn’t know.
At the top of the rise, he paused to look back down on the hacienda. The stout vaquero spoke to a dark-skinned Indian boy, then boosted him up on the saddle of a slightly swaybacked horse. A little spotted dog yapped at the animal’s feet but it didn’t seem disturbed. Around the pair, work continued, several men repairing a downed length of fence, while two other vaqueros sat in the shade, braiding long thin leatherreatas.Nothing suspicious here.
Still, he would like to talk once more to the girl. And also to Don Ramon. On Sunday, some of the men would be attending mass at the mission. He could speak to some of them then.
At least El Dragón had not been raiding.
Perhaps the man who supplied him with information had been too busy making love to his fiery new bride.
***
Pueblo Monterey, once the capital of Alta California, seemed very little changed from what it must have been in the early days of Spanish rule. A sleepy little village, it nestled on a gentle, pine-covered slope overlooking the bay. An American flag floated above the fort on the bluff, and on the government buildings in town, and a neat yellow stone building served as town hall. Off to one side, Carly noticed a cluster of houses, sturdily built, some of adobe, others of wood; and in the bright blue waters of the bay, a dozen vessels bobbed at anchor.
“It’s beautiful, Ramon.”
“Si,Cara. The Presidio has always been a beautiful little town.” But he frowned as he leaned forward, resting an elbow on his wide, flat saddle horn to stare down at the scene below. “It has changed since the Anglos have come. There are many more cantinas. And there is much more gambling. The men play billiards from morning to night; they gamble at cards and monte. The places do not close, not even on Sunday.”