Chapter Sixteen
She meant to stay in the hotel, she really did, but the day was so lovely and she had never been to Monterey.
Determined she would take only a short walk around, get a look at the sleepy little village Ramon had promised to show her, she wandered down the main street, looking through the tiny panes of glass in the shop windows.
From there she strolled down to the harbor, stopping to watch a small, twin-masted brig whose white canvas sails lufted out as it arrived in the bay.
“That ship that’s coming in,” she said to a craggy old fisherman with long gray hair and a foot-long pointed beard who sat on a rocky edge of the bay, holding a willow branch fishing pole, “it looks like they’re towing something.
What are they doing?” Beside him a stringer of carp flashed silver in the sunlight, their bodies half in, half out of the water.
“That’s a Boston whaler, lassie. They be bringin’ in their cargo—’bout an eighty-foot gray, I’d say. She’ll give up nearly a hundred barrels of oil.”
“They bring whales into Monterey?”
“Aye, that they do. Once they’re done wi’ ’em, they tow ’em out into the bay. Beach southeast o’ here is white with hundreds o’ dry, bleached bones.”
“I see.” She watched the ship for a while, then her gaze swung away, focused on a different section of the water. Not too distant from the shore, a small brown, fur-covered animal drifted on its back atop the waves.
“Sea otter, lassie. Cute little devil, ain’t he?”
“What’s he doing?”
“Crackin’ open his dinner. They eat oysters, ya see.
Use an empty shell to bust ’em open. They float on their back like that and sun themselves.
Got a damned fine life, ya ask me.” A flush rose into his ruddy, bearded cheeks.
“Beg pardon, lass. Haven’t done much talkin’ to a lady, not since I left Aberdeen. ”
“That’s all right, mister…?”
“MacDugal. Most folks just call me Mac.”
Carly smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mac. I’m Carly de la Guerra.”
“Pleasure, Miss … de la Guerra, ya say?”
“That’s right. Why? Do you know my husband?”
“His name Angel? Real handsome lad, lanky built with curly black hair?”
“My husband’s name is Ramon.”
“Different fellow.” He shook his head, waving his long gray beard. “Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear it. That one was drinkin’ and whorin’ over to Conchita’s Cantina all night. Not the kinda man a lassie like you needs for a husband.”
Definitely not. Still, Carly wondered if Angel and Ramon were related. He had said his cousins were in town, though he hadn’t mentioned anyone but Maria and her daughter.
“It’s getting kind of late,” Carly said. “I suppose I should be going. I really enjoyed our conversation, Mac.”
“So did I, lassie. You take care now, ya hear?”
Carly nodded and started back toward the hotel, still wondering about Angel de la Guerra, but mostly thinking of Ramon and how lonely the evening would be without him.
* * *
Leaning against the side of a building beneath a covered porch, his knee bent and propped against the wall, Angelo de la Guerra watched the pretty Americana walk away.
He had been following her all afternoon, been watching the hotel since he had seen his cousin leave then ride out from the stable.
Angel had been curious about his cousin’s new wife from the moment he had overheard him talking to his sister about her last night.
He took a long draw on his hand-rolled cigarillo, let the smoke curl out through his slim, straight nose.
So this was Ramon’s blushing bride.
Not bad … for a gringa. But then his cousin had always had good taste in women.
And he had been enjoying them freely for the last five years while Angel had been rotting in an Arizona prison.
He thought of how many times he had wanted a woman only to have that woman choose his cousin over him.
They had always been competitive, even as children.
And even in the early days, Ramon had bested him in everything they’d done.
Angel scoffed. Why not? Diego de la Guerra was richer, more powerful than his own father was.
Ramon was better educated. He was taller, and by far the better horseman.
Women were drawn to his good looks and charm even as they scoffed at Angel’s less skilled attempts to woo them.
When it came to Ramon de la Guerra, Angel had always come out second best.
Even Yolanda, his childhood sweetheart, had secretly pined for Ramon. She had told him so once, that she couldn’t marry him because she was in love with someone else. The fact Ramon didn’t want her hadn’t changed the fact that she wanted him.
Angel took a last draw on his cigarillo and tossed it into the street, sending up a small puff of dust that extinguished the flame.
He thought of the copper-haired woman and felt himself grow hard inside his buckskin breeches.
He wasn’t the same callow boy he had been the last time Ramon had seen him. The last five years had seen to that.
He wanted the woman. He was a free man again and he meant to take what he wanted. It was time he evened the score.
* * *
Carly borrowed a leather-bound book, Pilgrim’s Progress, from a shelf in the hotel lobby, then returned upstairs to her room.
She had meant to eat supper there, but the minutes seemed to drag and finally she gave in to the urge and went downstairs.
The dining room wasn’t large, just a single long table down the middle with benches on each side and a few small tables around it, each with two spindly-legged chairs.
She sat down in the one nearest the corner, and a buxom, smiling Mexican woman appeared.
“Senora de la Guerra. Your husband said you might join us. He said that we should take very good care of you while he is away.”
Carly smiled. “I know I should probably eat upstairs, but I … well, I thought it might be more interesting down here.”
“Of course, senora. Why should such a beautiful woman lock herself away in an empty room?”
Carly’s smile broadened at the encouragement.
“You are hungry, senora?” The buxom woman wiped her thick-fingered hands on the apron she wore over her robust hips.
“I’m starving. The walk I took earlier must have stirred up my appetite.”
“We will fix that, you will see. How would you like some nice chilena pie? The corn crust is golden, baked exactly right. I promise you it is delicious.”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.”
The woman scurried off to ready the meal while Carly surveyed the rest of the people in the room.
Four of them were Spanish, a man and his wife and their two children; two were dressed as miners, in canvas breeches and flannel shirts, Americans down from the gold fields.
Several men wore tail coats, businessmen or government officials.
At a small table near the door, a lean, tough-looking man with wavy black hair and dark eyes sat with his back to the wall. She noticed he was watching her.
He smiled when her eyes caught his. Then he lazily came to his feet and began to walk toward her, his long strides easy and sure. He looked enough like Ramon that it took only a moment for her to realize exactly who he was.
“Senora?”
“Yes?”
“I am your husband’s cousin, Angelo. Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Why … no … of course not. I had heard some of his family was in town. I’m very glad to meet you.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down. He was shorter than Ramon, a little more slender, but wide-shouldered and hard-muscled, obviously well built. As Mac had said, the man was handsome, in a different, more austere way than Ramon, but attractive just the same.
“My cousin has left you here alone? It is not like Ramon to leave such a beautiful woman to fend for herself … especially not one who is his wife.”
“Something came up. He had to leave rather unexpectedly. I told him I’d be all right while he was gone.”
Angel smiled, his teeth flashing white, but it didn’t hold the kind of warmth Ramon’s smile did. “I am sorry I missed him. I only just arrived in town this afternoon.”
That wasn’t the impression she’d gotten from Mac. “Then your sister doesn’t know that you’re here?”
“Not yet. There was some business I needed to attend to first.”
Like drinking and whoring at Conchita’s Cantina, she thought, almost wishing she had eaten in her room after all. There was something about Angelo de la Guerra, something she couldn’t quite pin down, yet it bothered her just the same.
She forced herself to smile. “Will … will you join me?”
“I am afraid I have already eaten. And there is a matter of some importance I must see to.” He rose from his chair, took her hand and brought it to his lips. They felt cool and dry, not the least bit pleasant. “It has been a pleasure meeting you…?”
“Caralee,” she supplied, oddly wishing she didn’t have to tell him her name at all. But the man was her husband’s cousin. She really had no choice.
“It has been a pleasure, Cousin Caralee. Be sure to give Ramon my regards.”
Carly only nodded. She watched him leave, his gait more a swagger than a walk. When the plump Mexican woman brought the meal, Carly discovered she was no longer hungry.
Instead she picked at the food, forcing herself to eat at least a portion of it, then returned upstairs to read.
Several times her mind strayed to Angel de la Guerra and the uncomfortable feeling she had experienced in his presence.
Eventually, the pages in the book began to blur and she set the text on the bedside table.
Wearily she blew out the lamp and slid more deeply between the covers.
Surprisingly it didn’t take long to fall asleep.
She dreamed of Ramon, a pleasant dream, filled with warmth and love and hope for the future. She wondered if Ramon dreamed of her.
* * *
Angel de la Guerra slipped silently down the hallway, moving with the stealth of a man who knew how to handle himself. It was a confidence he had lacked until his years in prison … perhaps until he had killed his first man.