Chapter Fifteen #2
Two days later, they set off on their journey to Monterey.
Sitting astride his silver-trimmed saddle, Ramon ducked his head beneath an overhanging branch, a bronzed leaf fluttering down as he held it aside so Carly could ride underneath.
The morning had dawned clear and bright, a lemon yellow sun and a vibrant azure sky.
He smiled to himself and thanked the Blessed Virgin for the gift of such a day for his bride.
They were traveling horseback. Ramon had suggested the carriage, but his wife had surprised him by refusing.
“I’m riding better with each of my lessons,” she said. “And it would be faster if we traveled cross-country. You said there was a shortcut through the hills—we could take it if we didn’t have to stay on the road.” She smiled at him prettily. “Besides, I need the practice.”
His hand came up to her cheek. “Aye, querida, when you smile that way, how could any man refuse?” It was only a two-day journey, and he was proud that she wanted her horsemanship skills to improve.
She had surprised him again when she joined him that morning perched atop his aunt’s heavy old sidesaddle.
At least the skirt of the saddle was no longer stiff and curling.
Someone had lovingly worked it over, softening the leather, rubbing it to a glossy sheen, and cleaning the silver fittings.
He had a strong suspicion his wife was the one who had taken such care.
“You are sure about this, Cara?”
“I started using a woman’s saddle when I got back to del Robles. I wanted to learn to ride like a lady.”
“But the saddle is too big for you. You are sure you will be able to manage?”
“I can do it, Ramon. I learned on a saddle this size.”
He smiled. “All right then, the sun begins to climb. It is time we are off on our journey.”
She looked so lovely in her sapphire blue velvet riding habit, her fiery hair curled in ringlets that nestled against her shoulders. It made his blood begin to thicken, made him hungry to take her again, though they had just made love that morning.
Ramon bit back a silent groan of frustration. The woman set a torch to his blood every time he looked at her. He had hoped his need for her would lessen. Instead it seemed to strengthen with each passing day. Madre de Dios, it wasn’t like him. He wished he knew what to do.
“You are certain you have brought enough clothes?” Only one satchel was draped across the back of the mule they had packed with their bedrolls and supplies.
The journey was meant to be a pleasant one so Ramon had indulged himself.
Their saddle bags held food for the trail: apples from the orchard, pinole, carne seca—dried beef jerky—tortillas, coffee, and Yerba Buena tea.
The mule was packed with freshly roasted chicken for the evening meal, bean pies, cheese, and sweetbreads.
The animal even carried a thin feather mattress for the nights they would spend sleeping on the ground.
“The satchel holds more than you think,” Carly told him, her eyes a light emerald green and sparkling with excitement. “You said to bring something pretty, so I did. The dresses will be fine once they’re aired out and pressed.”
He could only imagine the assortment of clothes Isabel Montoya would have had to bring along. It would have taken three mules just to carry them. Then again, there would have been no use for a mule. Isabel would have insisted on traveling in the carriage.
Both his mother and Tia Teresa came out to see them off. Two Hawks was working in the barn with Mariano, where he went every evening as soon as his tasks were done.
“Have a safe journey, my son,” his mother said. She turned to smile at Carly. “You, also … my daughter.”
A film of moisture darkened the green of his wife’s pretty eyes. She was smiling at his mother with such affection that something softened inside him. He had hoped his mother and aunt would accept her. He had never imagined they would come to love her as he did.
Ramon’s gloved hand went taut on the reins, making Rey del Sol start to prance and toss his head. He couldn’t have said that, not even in his mind. He couldn’t allow himself even to think it.
He knew the danger. Por Dios, he knew exactly the way it felt to have a woman trample on his heart.
“Vaya con Dios,” his aunt called after them. Go with God, she said. “Enjoy yourselves—and Ramon, be sure to give our best to your cousins.” A letter had come. Maria de la Guerra would be visiting Monterey with her daughter.
“I will convince them to come for a visit,” he said.
“Take care of yourselves,” Carly called out to them.
Ramon waved a final good-bye and lightly touched his spurs to his horse’s ribs. Carly rode up beside him, perched atop a well-schooled, little white mare.
“They’re very dear,” she said, glancing back toward the two figures fading into the distance, raising her hand to wave one last time. “I’ve come to care for them very much.”
Ramon said nothing. He was still grappling with the notion that he was falling in love with Caralee McConnell.
He could stop it from happening, he assured himself.
He could distance himself from her soft looks and gentle smiles, keep himself aloof from her laughter and the passion they shared in bed.
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 clouds above 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 them my 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 leather reatas. 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.”