“I have readied Chimara for you,” the lanky Californio said, leading a small sorrel gelding from the stable.
“Thank you, Jose.” The tall vaquero lifted her easily into the sidesaddle. She positioned her knee in its proper place and her foot in the stirrup. Only then did she notice the saddle wasn’t the old battered one she had ridden before, but the one Vincent had given her the night of thefandango.
“I’m sorry, Jose, but this isn’t my saddle. This one belongs to Senor Bannister.”
“No, senora. Your uncle told us the day of your return that from now on this was the saddle you should use. He said he had it made especially for you. That it came all the way from San Francisco.”
Her uncle had bought it, not Vincent. How like him. He had used it to try to manipulate her, and yet it was his thoughtfulness that had moved him to buy it in the first place. She would never understand him, never condone the things he did, yet in his own way she cared for him. He was good to her and he was family, all that she had left. Despite the horror of what had happened in the village, despite all her doubts and uncertainties, the affection she felt for him remained.
“Thank you for telling me, Jose.”
“The saddle, it is beautiful, no?”
“Yes, very beautiful.” She ran her hands lovingly over the exquisite hand-carved leather, and a hard lump rose in her throat. How could he be so kind in some ways and so cruel in others?
Taking the reins in her leather-gloved hands, she nudged the sorrel forward. As soon as the barn was out of sight, she leaned over the animal’s neck and urged the horse into a gallop, desperate for the feel of the wind on her cheeks. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, only that she had to get away. She had to find a ray of light in the darkness that mired her spirit and threatened to bury her in grief.
Perhaps that was the reason she rode toward the shallow pool at the base of the creek running off of the mountain. She had been happy there. She had basked in the warmth of her husband’s touch, felt safe and secure and alive as she never had before. Perhaps a little of that brightness remained and would somehow reach her, help to lift the darkness from her aching heart.
Carly fervently hoped so. For the past three weeks she had grieved for Ramon even as she tried to forget him. Her insides felt as crushed as the dry fall leaves beneath her horse’s feet, her spirit lost and drifting. After the words she’d had with her uncle, the pain of losing Ramon she had kept so carefully controlled had once again torn free, and now it threatened to overwhelm her.
She found the stream, though she hadn’t been sure she could, dismounted from the horse, and followed it to the pool, then tied the animal beneath a nearby sycamore tree. A soft breeze sifted through the branches, but the day was warm for this time of year and she found herself perspiring. Or perhaps it wasn’t the warmth, but thoughts of Ramon and the way he had taken her, there in the soft, green grasses.
Her heart ached to think of him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come.
She knelt beside the pool, ran her fingers through the water, then opened the buttons at her throat and let the cooling liquid trickle slowly between her breasts. She looked at the shimmering surface of the pond, remembered the day had been cooler so they had not gone into the water.
It wasn’t cool now and suddenly she needed the cleansing water to wash away the sadness that seemed to surround her. She unbuttoned the rust-colored riding habit, sat down and pulled off her boots. She rolled down her stockings and slipped them off, then began to work the laces on her corset.
A gentle rustling snapped her head up. She was dressed in only the corset, her thin pantalettes, and chemise when she spotted her husband sitting on a rock at the edge of the pool. He was chewing a long stem of straw, watching her with eyes that were dark and unreadable, as handsome as the first time she had seen him.
“Buenas tardes… mi amor.”Bitterness rang in his tone, dripped like venom from his words.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Same as you, I suppose. Looking for a respite from the heat.” He tossed the golden stem away, came up from the rock and started walking toward her, his movements lean and graceful, as purposeful as a mountain cat after its prey.
Unconsciously, she backed a step away. “This is del Robles land. You’re trespassing.”
“Ah,querida… surely you do not begrudge your husband a chance to visit a place he holds dear from his boyhood.” He kept on striding toward her, didn’t stop till his tall hard body towered above her, forcing her to tilt her head back just to meet his gaze.
Carly wet her lips, which suddenly felt so dry she could barely speak. “I-I’m not dressed. The least you can do is turn around so that I may put on my clothes.”
A corner of his mouth curved up. “Why would I wish to do that?”
“Certainly not because you are a gentleman.”
He laughed at that, a bitter, sardonic sound. “No, certainly not because of that.”
Her heart was pounding, throbbing inside her breast. Still, she lifted her chin and met his dark look head on. “I think that you should leave.”
He laughed again, a little less harshly. “I had forgotten what a tiger you can be when you are angry.”
“And I had forgotten how infuriating you can be.” She reached for her riding habit, carefully folded and resting atop a rock. Ramon reached for it, too, pulled it from her slightly shaking hand.
“You will not need clothes… at least not yet.”
A wave of heat rolled through her.Dear God.She looked into those hot dark eyes, saw the hunger he made no attempt to disguise, and a tingling warmth filtered into her stomach. God in heaven, she still wanted him. Perhaps more in that moment than she ever had before.