Heart of Thunder (12 page)

“But how could the chickens disappear—unless they
were stolen? And our workers wouldn’t steal from us. Do you know who did it?”

He shook his head. His tone was evasive. “I have only suspicions. But it’s certainly nothing to concern yourself with. Jorge will be back any day now with a crate full of new chickens, so you will get your
arroz con pollo
yet. Why don’t you go and rest before dinner? You must be tired. We can talk later.”

Samantha grinned. In her happiness at being home, the chickens were forgotten. “It’s not a nap I want, father, but a bath. I have had so many cramped, uncomfortable baths, that I’ve been dreaming for months about that heavenly bathtub you bought me.”

“It’s nice to know one of my gifts is so deeply appreciated.” He chuckled.

She laughed. “That one is so deeply appreciated that I can’t wait to get into it. I’ll see you later, father.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, it’s so good to be home.”

Samantha’s high-ceilinged, whitewashed room cheered her, as it always had. It was just as she had left it, roomy, neat, furnished sparingly. The clothes she had left behind in her wardrobe would still fit her if she let out the hems a little. Even so, she had brought a new wardrobe from the East and would probably give the old clothes away, all except her riding habits.

The narrow bed was still covered in the old plaid blanket she liked so well. There was no vanity, just a large uncluttered oak dresser. The tables by her bed held no feminine knickknacks. There was really nothing in the room that identified it as belonging to a young girl, for that girl had been a tomboy, disdaining feminine frills.

Now she would have a vanity put in, and perhaps lacy curtains at the windows, as well as a full-length mirror and even some doilies for the tables. She hadn’t changed all that much, but she no longer denied being a lady. She couldn’t go on forever reacting against the
childhood spent with an overly strict grandmother. Then again, she wouldn’t give up her freedom, either.

Dinner was a delight. Maria had outdone herself. There was Spanish rice with thick steaks and peppers, and
frijoles
, the delicious beans mashed and fried in bacon drippings. Maria served
enchiladas
and
quesadillas
, as well, and Samantha stuffed herself on the different
tortilla
dishes. She had so missed Maria’s Mexican cooking, and she quickly decided that if she ever left home again, she would take Maria along with her.

After dinner they retired to the comfortable living room off the central patio, Samantha insisting that Maria join them. The old woman was family to Samantha, never mind that she had her own children and Manuel, her husband.

Samantha talked only briefly about school, for she had already written home about so much of it. Maria and her father were more interested in her journey home, and in the Allstons. But Samantha could not speak enthusiastically about her journey, and she gave only a general account of Jeannette and Adrien. Her father asked many questions about them, but she never once let on that her feelings for Adrien had run deep, or that those feelings had been sorely wounded. She spoke of Elizabethtown with distaste, but her father attributed that to the primitive atmosphere of a boom town.

Samantha didn’t mention the dark, handsome stranger of her journey. She would never speak of him or of her shame, not unless he was found and she had to explain why she would be identifying him.

Then it was her turn to ask questions, to find out what had been going on at home. There had been a marriage and four births among the
vaqueros
and their families. One of the copper mines was shut down because there had been too many accidents. There had been some cattle missing on the range recently, nothing serious, and only because the ranch had gone short-
handed while Samantha’s escort was away. There had been building and repairs, minor things, of no concern.

Her father changed the subject.

“Don Ignacio’s son has been here often, asking after you, Sammy.”

“Ramón?”

“Yes, he’s turned into a fine boy.”

“You mean man, don’t you?” Samantha pointed out. “Ramón is several years older than I am.”

Hamilton shrugged. “I’ve watched him grow up, Sammy. It’s the same as with you. You’re still my little girl. It’s hard to think of you as a grown woman.”

“Well, I still feel like your little girl. So maybe we can forget sometimes that I’m grown.”

“Agreed.” He chuckled. “But, as I was saying, Ramón Baroja has turned out to be a fine…man, and I think you’ll be surprised at the change. He must have grown six inches since you left.”

“And how is his family?”

“Well.”

Maria grunted. “
Very
well, considering they have not been troubled as we—”

Hamilton cleared his throat loudly, cutting her off. “I could use some brandy, Maria.”

“What trouble?” Samantha asked Maria.

Her father answered quickly. “It’s nothing. A few drifters killing some stock. Things like this have happened before.”

Samantha watched Maria shaking her head as the older woman left to get the brandy. What was going on? The chickens…the mine…missing cattle…dead stock. Yet her father shrugged it all off. Or did he? Was it really nothing, or did he not want to worry her?

“Ramón will probably stop by to see you tomorrow,” Hamilton was saying. He chuckled. “He has been coming every other day. I suppose he doesn’t trust me to send word when you arrive.”

“Why is he so eager to see me?”

“Well, he’s missed you. He hasn’t married yet, you know.”

“You sound like you’re matchmaking, father.” Samantha grinned impishly. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind at all if I married Ramón?”

“I think he would make a fine husband, yes. But don’t get your dander up, Sam,” he added. “I’m not about to tell you whom you should marry. I expect you will follow your heart.”

“Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind,” Samantha said. There was just a touch of bitterness in her voice, but not enough for her father to detect.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied. “After all, you just came home to me. I wouldn’t want to lose you too soon,
querida
.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Hamilton looked up, surprised by her sharp tone. “What?”

“I said don’t call me that,” she snapped, and then sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry, father. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

She was shocked. How she must have sounded. She was letting Hank Chavez affect her homecoming. Her father wouldn’t understand why she never wanted to hear that endearment again, nor did she want to make him understand. He worried too much over her welfare as it was. He would be devastated to know what she had allowed to happen to her. And she
had
allowed it, she reminded herself cruelly. She had let him fondle her, build her to a feverish pitch. She had allowed all of that—and then it had been too late to stop the rest.

“I must be tired. I don’t know what I’m saying.” Samantha tried to excuse herself for the outburst. “I didn’t sleep very well last night because I was so excited, knowing I’d be home today.”

Her father nodded. “And I am keeping you up late. Go on to bed, Sam.”

“Yes, I think I will.” She bent and kissed him.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He squeezed her hand before letting her go. “Good night—Sammy.”

She walked away, furious with herself instead of happy at being home. She was letting Hank Chavez haunt her. Why, her father had always called her
querida
when saying good night to her. And now he couldn’t say that—because of Hank Chavez!

Chapter 13

F
ROILANA RAMIREZ woke Samantha, bringing fresh water into her room. Maria’s youngest daughter was twenty-three, and unmarried, though many men had spoken for her. She was waiting for the right man, “the one who sweeps me off my feet and carries me away,” she always told Samantha quite seriously.

“He must be very strong, very handsome. He must make me swoon for love of him.”

Samantha had always scoffed at Froilana’s fanciful dreams. She had felt that boys were good only for beating at contests. She always beat Ramón and the boys on the ranch, even the ones much older than she. But now, older, she could understand Froilana’s dreams.

She lay there listening to Froilana’s frivolous chatter. A vivacious girl, pretty, with silky black hair, wide brown eyes, and golden skin, Froilana’s only fault was incessant chattering.

“…no longer the
muchacha
and I the older woman. Now we are both women,” Froilana was saying.

Samantha suppressed a grin as she pulled her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I suppose so,” she answered as seriously as she could manage.

From as far back as Samantha could remember, the older girl had thought of herself as a woman. Yet Froilana had been only thirteen when Samantha joined her father in Texas, and Maria and her family had come with them to Mexico the year after. Her father had moved to Mexico in order to avoid the Civil War brewing in the American states. There had been fighting in
Mexico, as well, a revolution, but her father remained neutral there, and they were so far north that the trouble never reached them.

“Now you do not laugh and giggle when I talk of men,” Froilana continued, making Samantha’s bed. “Now you have an interest in men, eh?”

Samantha yawned, tiptoeing to the small room adjoining hers where her huge four-legged bathtub was kept. Water had to be carried to it, but there was a piped drain which led outside for emptying it. Her morning bowl of cool water was on the towel stand.

“Oh, I don’t know, Lana,” Samantha called over her shoulder. “Men can be very deceptive. I think I can do without them for a while yet.”

“
Ay
, no!” Froilana scoffed.

“I mean it.”

“What will you do then when the young Ramón asks your
papacito
to marry you? And he will. He was always taken with you, even though you act like a child. Wait until he sees you now!”

Samantha splashed cool water on her face then grabbed a towel before she replied. “Ramón can ask my father for me all he wants, but I am the one who will have to give the answer. And how can I know what I will say when I haven’t seen him for almost three years?”

“You will like what you see,
patrona
.”

“
Patrona?
” Samantha called out in surprise. “Lana, you never called me mistress.”

“But you have changed so,” Froilana explained, subdued then. “You are a lady now.”

“Nonsense. I haven’t changed that much. You just call me what you always have.”

“
Sí
, Sam.” Froilana grinned.

“That’s better. And as for Ramón and my liking the changes in him, it will not matter,” Samantha said as she came back into her room and headed for the wardrobe. “As I said before, I can do without men for a while.”

“The prospect of seeing Ramón again does not excite you? Not even a little?”

“Excite me? Heavens no.” Samantha laughed. “I’m happy just being home. I don’t need any more than that.”

“But what then did you think of El Carnicero? Were you not excited by the stories about him?”

Samantha turned around and gazed curiously at Froilana. “El Carnicero? The Butcher? What kind of name is that?”

“It is said he cuts up his enemies and serves them to his dogs, piece by piece. That is how he came by the name,” she said breathlessly.

“Lana! How disgusting!”

Froilana shrugged. “I do not believe
that
story about him, but the other things,
sí
. They say he is
mucho hombre
, but very mean. They also say he is very ugly, but that he can have any woman he wants. I wonder—”

“Wait a minute, Lana.” Samantha interrupted. “Who are we talking about? Who the devil is this Carnicero you find so fascinating?”

Froilana’s dark eyes widened. “You do not know?
El patrón
did not tell you?”

“No, my father didn’t say anything about it,” Samantha replied.

“
Ay!
” the older girl gasped. “
Mamacita
will take a stick to me for telling you!”

“But you haven’t told me anything much,” Samantha said impatiently. “Who is El Carnicero?”

“No! I say no more. I go now.”

“Lana!” But the girl ran from the room, leaving Samantha confused. “Damn and be damned, what the hell was that all about?” she muttered to herself as she dressed quickly in a jade-green riding outfit of suede and a bright yellow silk shirt.

The Butcher. A man who cut up his enemies. What sort of man would kill people in this time of peace? A general from the revolution, perhaps? There had been
many fierce men on both sides. An outlaw, perhaps, or an official of the government? The liberals had triumphed in the revolution, and Juárez was president. But the president could not control the officials in all of his states.

Soon she joined her father for a breakfast of thick corn cakes, ham, and hot, strong coffee.

“Who is El Carnicero?” she asked him.

“Where did you hear that name?” Her father sat back and frowned.

“What difference does it make?” she rejoined. “Who is he?”

Her father hesitated for several moments, then replied, “He’s no one you need to be concerned about.”

“Father, you’re evading. Why didn’t you tell me about this man?”

“He’s a bandit, Sammy, a man who has gained notoriety farther south in the past several years.”

A bandit. “Why is he being talked about here?”

Hamilton sighed. “Because the fellow came north recently. He and his followers are living in the West Sierras now.”

“You mean they’re hiding out there? Has no one tried to get them out?”

“You know as well as I, Samantha, that if someone wanted to hide out in those mountains, it would be almost impossible to find him.”

Everything fell into place suddenly. “Has this
bandido
been giving you trouble?”

“I can’t be sure it’s the same man.”

“The chickens and the cattle?”