Chapter Eight #2
Careful that Caralee would not discover the way, Ramon saw the women safely back to the compound. Sanchez said little on the ride back home, his scowl of disapproval was enough.
“You do not need to say it,” Ramon told him, once they were alone. “I meant only to teach her a lesson. Instead I learned something myself.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“That where the gringa is concerned I cannot trust myself. Sangre de Christo, Pedro, I cannot remember wanting a woman so badly.”
The old vaquero just laughed. “The Americana has fire, verdad? She has beauty, courage, and strength. If I were twenty years younger, even I would be tempted. You must decide what to do with her, Ramon.”
“If I wish to keep my freedom, there is nothing I can do—except be certain that she remains here.”
“Perhaps if you explained things … told her the truth. There is always a chance that you might sway her.”
Ramon just scoffed. “The woman is a gringa. She will never take the side of a Californio over her own flesh and blood.”
“Perhaps you are right, I do not know. But I have seen stranger things in my many years of living. I have learned that the truth is a means of persuasion that can often pierce the boundaries of race or religion.”
Ramon just shook his head. Sanchez must be getting old. To believe the woman would listen—that he could trust her to keep his secret—it was insane to even consider it.
Yet the thought began to plague him. He left the next day to return to Rancho Las Almas, determined to keep his distance from the girl.
But each night he remembered what it felt like to kiss her, imagined what it might be like to make passionate love to her.
And each day he remembered what his old friend had said.
If he could make her understand. If he could make her see the truth about her uncle, he could let her return to Rancho del Robles. His problem would be solved, and sooner or later, he would forget her.
Perhaps he would return to the stronghold and tell her the truth. He had nothing to lose in that.
Ramon shivered to think that he might lose his life if he was ever foolish enough to trust her completely.
* * *
The idea came from nowhere, or perhaps from the womanly instincts she’d always had but only recently begun to discover.
She had asked herself, who in the compound would most likely help her?
The answer was—no one. All of them were loyal to the don.
Who then had anything to gain by aiding her escape?
She knew many more of them now. Some of them were mercenaries, as the don had implied when she had first arrived.
They were there for a portion of the ill-gotten gains, but she had no money to pay them, and promises were worth very little.
Then it struck her. Miranda.
Miranda Aguilar wanted her gone from the camp.
The girl had come to the don’s house that first day to make it clear that she was his woman. She wouldn’t have come if she hadn’t seen Carly as some sort of threat. Would Miranda be willing to help her?
Carly had learned how to ride, at least a little.
The don hadn’t taught her; he had left the day after their return from the Indian village.
Ruiz and Sanchez had been giving her lessons.
Both were fine horsemen and very good teachers, patient yet firm, determined now that they had undertaken the task to see she rode as well as any highborn Spanish woman.
They had been teaching her to sit astride, but they promised that if Don Ramon would find her a sidesaddle, they would teach her to ride that way, too. She wanted to. She knew it would please her uncle that she could ride like a fashionable lady.
For now it was enough that she could manage a horse well enough to get away.
If she could convince Miranda to help her.
Carly dressed with care that morning, brushing her hair till it shined with coppery fire, pulling it up with a pretty shell comb so that it fell seductively over one shoulder.
She drew the top of her blouse down as far as she could, exposing the tops of her breasts, then made her way to Miranda’s cabin and lightly knocked on the door.
Footsteps sounded, the door swung open, and the dark-haired girl stepped out on the porch. Surprise flared in her eyes for a moment, then they narrowed in dislike.
“Don Ramon is not here,” she said, staring down her slender nose with contempt.
Carly just smiled. “Buenos dias, Miranda. A pleasant day, is it not?”
“Go away. I told you Ramon is not here.”
“I didn’t come to see Ramon,” Carly said, purposely using the more intimate address. “I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought there might be something you could do for me … in exchange for something that I can do for you.”
Miranda eyed her coldly, then tossed back her mane of shiny black hair and motioned for her to come in.
The cabin was small, only two rooms, but the earthen floor was swept so clean it looked polished, and freshly laundered curtains hung at the window sill.
Carly could smell the woman’s sweet perfume.
“What makes you believe there is anything you can do for me?” Miranda said.
Carly tried not to think of how pretty she was, how lithe and graceful, that Ramon slept in her bed.
Instead she concentrated on convincing the woman that she was the one Ramon preferred.
“Perhaps there isn’t. Then again, perhaps you would be more than happy to see me gone from here.
If that is the case, then maybe we can do business. ”
Miranda’s eyes wandered over Carly’s breasts, assessing their size and shape. “Ramon wants you here. Why should I disobey him?”
They stood next to a rustic table and chairs but Miranda didn’t offer her a seat. “That is exactly the reason—because Ramon wants me here. Or perhaps he simply wants me.”
“He does not want you, puta. Why should he? Already, he has me.”
“If that is so, then why did he kiss me?”
Her chin jutted up, her eyes growing dark with anger but not surprise. She knew something had happened between them. The women in the cart must have guessed. Perhaps they even believed that was why the don had left the stronghold.
“Ramon is a man,” Miranda said. “It is a man’s desire to rut with any woman willing to please him.”
Carly smiled and shrugged her shoulders, then turned toward the door as if to leave. “Well, if you don’t mind sharing him…”
“If you were to go, Ramon would not be safe. You would turn him over to the authorities.”
Carly turned to face her, leaned forward and rested her palms on the battered wooden table. “Not if we were to strike a bargain. Give me your word you’ll help me escape and I’ll give you mine not to turn Ramon in.”
“You are a gringa. How could I trust you?”
“You’re the don’s woman. How could I trust you? You might send me in the wrong direction. You might have someone lying in wait to murder me on the trail. We will have to trust each other if we are to succeed.”
Miranda chewed her lip and Carly’s heart began to throb with hope inside her chest. Both of them would be taking a risk. Would the woman keep her word? The dangers Carly had mentioned were more than real. She would have to be careful, find some way to protect herself, once she was safely away.
As for herself, she would say anything to escape this place. She refused to consider whether or not she would keep her silence once she reached her home.
“I will let you know tonight,” Miranda said. “Leave your window open. At midnight, I will tell you what I have decided.”
Carly left the cabin afraid to hope, yet feeling for the first time as if there might be a chance.
The woman clearly despised her, but Carly didn’t believe she was capable of murder.
She might send her off the wrong way, hoping Carly would die in the mountains, but most likely she would simply say no.
Miranda was worried for Ramon and rightly so. Carly thought that if she were his woman, she would do anything to protect him. Then again, if he really belonged to her, she might do anything to keep him from turning to another woman.
That thought was disturbing. Ramon de la Guerra was an outlaw, perhaps even a murderer as her uncle had said. She would have to turn him in—wouldn’t she? She felt uneasy to think of breaking her word.
Pleading a headache, Carly ate with Pedro and Florentia then went to her bedroom early, only to wind up pacing the floor of her small room. At midnight, just as Miranda had promised, soft feminine footfalls sounded in the dirt beneath her bedroom window.
“Senorita McConnell?”
“I’m here, Miranda.” She stood beside the open portal, but didn’t pull back the thin muslin curtains.
“Tomorrow at dawn, there is a wagon leaving to pick up supplies in San Juan Bautista. A vaquero named Francisco Villegas will be driving. He will do anything for a little bit of gold. I have paid him to take you down the mountain. When he nears your uncle’s ranch, he will show you which way to go.”
Carly closed her eyes, excitement racing through her. “I understand.”
“You must be in the back of the wagon before the sun comes up. It will be sitting not far from this window.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Do I have your word Ramon will be safe?”
Carly took a deep steadying breath. “You have my word.”
“If you are lying, if you tell anyone it was I who helped you, I promise I will kill you. Do you hear me?”
Carly wet her lips. “Yes.”
Gravel crunched beneath the window as the woman walked away, and Carly released a slow breath of air. She had no idea what would happen, nor what she would do once she escaped the compound. But events were set in motion. She meant to see them through.