Chapter Twenty-two #2
She fumbled through her mind, groping for an answer he would believe—one that didn’t involve Angel de la Guerra.
“I—I, to be honest, Sheriff Layton, I was jealous. I discovered my husband had been keeping a mistress—before we were married, of course. My feelings were hurt, I suppose. Now, well, we’ve straightened the whole matter out.
The woman no longer plays a part in my husband’s life, and he has convinced me I’m the only woman he needs.
” She straightened in her chair. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff, but my husband does not now, nor ever has had anything to do with the outlaw El Dragón. ”
The sheriff unwound his long lanky frame and stood up. “Well, then, I guess that puts this matter to an end … long as there ain’t no more trouble.”
“What about the others? Won’t you and the vigilantes be going after them?”
He shook his blond head. “I figure they’re miles from here by now. Without their leader, I don’t think they’ll be back.” He smiled. “Glad to hear you and the don have worked things out. The truth is, I’ve always kinda liked him.”
“I’ll give him your best,” she said, also standing up.
Jeremy Layton plucked his wide-brimmed felt hat from the back of the chair. “Guess … the way things turned out … we’ll never know the fellow’s real name.”
“You mean the Spanish Dragon?”
He nodded. “Nobody round here seems to know him. Leastwise if they do, they ain’t sayin’.
Then again, maybe it’s better that way.” He gave her a probing look Carly didn’t dare respond to, then twirled his hat in his hands as he headed for the door.
“I suppose now that Fletcher’s gone, you and the don will be livin’ here at del Robles. ”
Carly’s head came up. She stopped and stood stock still. “What did you say?”
“Seems only logical. Place is yours now.”
“Rancho del Robles is mine?”
He nodded. “Sure is, ma’am. That was something Fletcher Austin made no bones about. He said anything ever happened to him, del Robles belonged to you. He told me more than once that you were his only kin.”
“Yes … I suppose I am. Things happened so quickly, I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“I’m sure he took care of it nice and legal.
Might be something in his desk. You get a chance, you go through his papers.
’Course one of them fancy lawyer friends of his up in San Francisco will probably be handlin’ the details.
Whatever the case, I’d bet my last gold eagle, the place belongs to you. ”
Carly just stared at him, hardly able to absorb the words. “Thank you, Sheriff Layton. I’ll make a point to do as you suggest.”
Rancho del Robles was very likely hers. Good heavens, she could hardly believe it. And yet she wanted to—more with each second that passed.
* * *
They buried Fletcher Austin late that afternoon.
He would have liked the pomp of a big funeral service.
He would have liked his wealthy friends from San Francisco to have been in attendance.
There wasn’t time for them to get there, and as far as Carly was concerned, dead was dead. Her worry now was for the living.
While the cooper who worked at del Robles built a sturdy oak coffin, her uncle’s body was washed and made ready, and he was dressed in his finest black broadcloth suit.
Carly, Rita Salazar, Cleve Sanders, and the dozens of people who worked on the rancho stood at the top of a hill beneath an ancient oak overlooking the hacienda.
It was a glorious spot to face eternity.
She knew at least she had pleased him in the choice of his final place of rest.
It was all the lovely valley owed him. More than what he should have had, she admitted—after the ugly truth she had discovered just that morning.
Still, he was her uncle. As ruthless a man as he was, she had cared about him.
She cried as she stood at the grave and Riley Wilkins solemnly read verses from the Bible.
If only things could have been different.
When the service was ended, everyone walked back to the house, where a huge assortment of food had been set out: chicken en mole and fresh cooked tortillas, platters of steamed corn, fried potatoes, and stewed meats.
A bullock roasted on a spit over the coals.
There was wine and sangria to drink and homemade custards and chocolate rolled in tortillas.
As soon as she had received everyone’s condolences, Carly slipped off to her room to change into her riding clothes. She had waited long enough. She was going to Las Almas, she told the others, returning to her husband. She needed him, now that her uncle was gone. And she loved him.
All of which was the truth.
She didn’t let them know how worried she was about him, that with every step her little mare took in his direction, her heart ached for Ramon.
* * *
Ramon stirred on the bed and his eyes popped open.
His shoulder throbbed and the skin around the wound burned like a fiery brand.
But his head no longer pounded and his skin felt cool to the touch, no longer hot and clammy.
In the night he had thrashed off the sheet and his naked body sprawled with familiar abandon on the clean white muslin sheet.