Epilogue
They were having a fandango. It was a special evening planned by Ramon, though he’d been strangely quiet about it. He’d simply said there would be a grand fiesta to celebrate a grand occasion. Carly wasn’t sure what that occasion was, but she didn’t care. She had a surprise of her own for Ramon.
The sounds of music drifted toward her. Outside the window, musicians played Spanish guitar and violin, entertaining the guests that had already arrived while Carly sat fidgeting on the tapestry stool in front of the mirror, wishing Candelaria would hurry and finish her hair.
“Can you not sit still?” the Spanish girl scolded. “If you wish me to hurry, you must not squirm so much.”
“I can’t help it. I should have been ready long before this. Ramon will be wondering where I am.”
“You should have let Rita oversee the preparations, as the don suggested, instead of trying to do so much of it yourself.”
“I only helped with the food. I wanted to be sure there was enough.”
The little maid simply frowned till Carly stifled her nervous movements.
Six months had passed since the death of her uncle.
Several weeks after, the will had been read, leaving the ranch to her as the sheriff had said.
But documents had to be drawn, there were business accounts to be transferred into her name, a dozen different papers to sign.
Two months after Uncle Fletcher’s death, she and Ramon moved back to Rancho del Robles, and Ramon took over the running of the rancho.
His mother and aunt decided to remain in the small adobe house at Las Almas. It was only a short ride away and the older women had come to think of the place as home.
“Rancho del Robles is no longer where I wish to live,” his mother said.
“There I see your father’s hand in everything I do.
The memories are too painful. I am more at peace here.
” Mariano remained as well, and Blue Blanket and some of the vaqueros.
The rest of the men, including Pedro Sanchez, returned to Rancho del Robles.
Several times over the past few months, Carly had spoken to Ramon about ownership of the rancho, but he refused to discuss it. Legally, the rancho was hers, he said. It was enough for him that he and his people could return to their home.
It wasn’t enough for Carly. She meant to rectify the wrong that had been done and tonight was the perfect opportunity.
“We are almost finished, senora.” When Candelaria stepped back to survey her handiwork, Carly stood up and walked over to the cheval glass mirror.
Smoothing her full silk skirts, she surveyed her image, satisfied the décolletage of the ruffled bodice was low enough but not too low, glad that her waist looked so small, pleased with the long dark auburn ringlets Candelaria had so artfully arranged on one bare shoulder. “It’s a lovely color, don’t you think?”
“Si, senora. The same bright green as your eyes.”
“I hope Ramon will be pleased.”
Candelaria smiled. “Your husband is pleased by whatever it is that you do. I only wish I could find a man who would love me half as much as the don loves you.”
Carly felt the heat rising into her cheeks. “I hope he knows how much I love him.”
The dark-haired serving girl just smiled. Lifting a beautiful black lace mantilla that matched the trim on her dress, she helped Caralee drape it over the high combs inlaid with mother-of-pearl that Ramon had given her as a gift earlier that evening.
“I know it’s silly, but I’m nervous. I can’t imagine why.”
“Perhaps it is because the don has planned this night especially for you.”
Carly turned to face her friend. “Do you really think so?”
“You will find out soon enough. Go now. Do not keep your impatient husband waiting any longer.”
Carly left the big master bedroom she and Ramon now shared, went down the hall and into the sala. Her handsome husband was pacing the floor in front of the window, the wide red-satin-lined bottoms of his tight black breeches flaring out over his polished black boots with each turn.
He smiled the moment he saw her. “Aye, querida…” His dark eyes shone with pleasure. “The sight of you steals my breath.”
Carly smiled softly. “I’m glad you like the gown.”
“Mostly I like the woman who is wearing it.” He raked her with a too-bold glance that made the heat creep into her cheeks. “But come, there will be time for that later. For now we have guests. Tonight is fandango!”
Together they walked out of the house onto the patio.
It was decorated with colorful paper lanterns and dozens of handmade paper flowers.
Streamers hung from the branches of the trees, and the tables bore garlands of roses.
Musicians dressed in black calzonevas and short charro jackets stood at the end of the wooden dance floor playing a Spanish serenade.
Already the party was well underway. The Herreras, the Juarezes, the Montoyas, and dozens of others already had arrived.
Don Alejandro de Estrada and the Micheltorenas had come from Monterey.
Vaqueros—Two Hawkes beaming with pride that he was accepted among them—had come from ranchos as far away as San Miguel.
Many still sat their horses, as was the custom, others had dismounted and begun to join in the dancing.
Ramon’s aunt and mother were there, laughing and happy as Carly had rarely seen them. It was Tia Teresa who spoke to her first.
“It is a wonderful wedding fiesta, no?”
“Wedding fiesta?” Carly flushed. “I don’t think—”
“Si, Tia,” Ramon said with a smile, “it is a fine celebration of our marriage.”
Carly looked up at Ramon. “That’s what this is? A wedding reception?”
“Si, that is what you would call it. I wanted my neighbors and friends to meet the woman I married. Like any new husband, I wished to show off my bride.”
Carly’s throat went tight. Suddenly she understood why he had planned the evening so carefully.
It was his way of letting the people he cared about know how much she meant to him.
He was telling them that she was the woman he wanted.
That she was an Anglo did not matter. She was now a de la Guerra, and he was proud that she was his wife.
“Thank you.” Tears rose in her eyes. Ramon must have seen them for he lifted her chin and gave her a feather-soft kiss.
“I am glad that you are pleased. I only wish I had done it long before this. Now come. There are people I wish you to meet and then I will teach you to dance La Jota.”
And so they began to mingle with their guests. Ramon proudly introduced her to the people she didn’t already know, reacquainted her with those she had already met, then they joined in the dancing.
Laughing with pleasure, they danced one song after another, Ramon patiently teaching her the steps until she was finally able to master them.
Friends cracked colored cascarones, hollow eggs filled with gold and silver tinsel scented with cologne, over their heads as they would have a true bride and groom, and the bits of glittery paper scattered over their hair and clothes.
The vaqueros coaxed Ramon into drinking some of their fiery aguardiente and the potent alcohol had him laughing and joking, joining in the bawdy songs they’d begun to sing.
He wasn’t really drunk, she saw as he came to take her hand and lead her back to the dance floor, just high on the goodness of life, the joy of being with old and dear friends in times that were sweeter than they had been in years.
Smiling at her softly, he motioned to the musicians and the tempo of the music changed. One by one, the other couples stopped dancing and turned toward Ramon, forming a circle around him.
He lifted Carly’s hand, bent over and pressed his lips against her palm. “This I dance for you,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, then he raised his elegant dark hands above his head.
Clapping once, twice, stomping a boot heel down on the wooden dance floor, he arched his back and gracefully began dancing to the beat of the music, his boot heels rapping hard again and again.
Lantern light sparkled on the silver conchos down the side of tight black breeches, gleamed on the silver-embroidered lapels of the charro jacket that barely reached his narrow waist.
His dark eyes fixed on Carly, he held his head high, his gaze as fierce as the night sky over their heads. It seemed to bore into her, hold her as captive as she had been those days in the mountains. His hands moved senuously, gracefully, and it was almost as if he touched her.
Her breathing quickened, making her breasts rise and fall above her low-cut gown.
Her heart fluttered, started an uneven pounding inside her chest. Her eyes moved down his body, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his stomach, the sinews in his hard-muscled thighs that tightened with each of his graceful movements.
His breeches were so snug they outlined the heavy bulge of his sex, leaving no doubt of his virility.
She wanted to reach out, to touch his powerful chest, to feel those elegant hands running over her flesh, stroking her, easing deeply inside her. She wanted to taste the heat of his mouth over hers, to know the scorching fire of his hard length thrusting into her core.
Her nipples peaked, began to ache beneath the edge of the ruffle flirting with the top of her bodice.
His eyes fixed there the moment they crested and a corner of his sensuous mouth curved up.
He knew the power of his dancing. He had used it before, she realized, a thread of jealousy sliding through her, and yet it also heated her blood to think what he meant to do.