Midnight Rider (31 page)

“He didn't steal it,” Ramon corrected. “Two Hawks is far too honorable for that. He bought it.”

“Bought it? But how could he—” She broke off with a grin. “The stones he left on the window sill.”

Ramon smiled softly. “Trading stones. Among his people, they are used as barter. To him, they are the same as money.”

Carly laughed. “I believe Two Hawks may teach us as much as we teach him.”

Ramon just nodded. They finished their meal and returned to their room, undressed, and made love to the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant lap of water against the rocky shore.

In the morning Ramon left for the meeting that had brought him to Monterey. Carly's single regret was that he carefully avoided any mention of what that meeting was about.

*   *   *

“
Buenas tardes,
Don Ramon, please come in.” Alejandro de Estrada, a distinguished graying man in his early fifties, motioned the tall Spaniard in. Alejandro had written the don sometime back and been eager to meet the son of his old
compadre,
Diego de la Guerra, a man he had known and respected since his earliest days in California.

“
Gracias,
Don Alejandro, I have looked forward to this occasion for some time.”

“As have I, Don Ramon.” He smiled. “Before we begin would you care for some coffee, or perhaps a cup of cocoa?”

“Coffee would suit me well.” A short, robust serving woman brought the refreshments into his small, tidy office. The walls were whitewashed adobe, adorned only with a painting that had been done by an artist who owed him money and the diplomas that signified he was qualified to practice law in the State of California.

Alejandro sat down at his small oak writing desk, moving aside the stack of letters he had been reading, and Ramon de la Guerra took a seat in the leather-bottomed chair across from him.

“You are here to discuss Rancho del Robles,” Alejandro said. “I am well aware of your troubles. Your father came to me in the beginning. He hoped I would somehow be able to prevent the loss of his land, but at the time, I am sorry to say, I was not able to help him.” He sighed deeply, thinking of the tragic death of his good friend. “I only wish I could have.”

“You were his
abogado
for many years, Don Alejandro. In your letter, you said you may have stumbled onto something that could change things.”

“
Si,
that is correct. The record of your father's title to Rancho del Robles was destroyed in the fire here in Monterey over twenty years ago, and the land descriptions in his original
diseno
were so vague the courts refused to accept it without a second means of verification.”

The don leaned forward. “And now you have found such a means?”

“After your father's case was lost, another case was opened. The
haciendado
who owned the land, Don Hernando Seville, introduced church records to verify his claim—records of births and deaths that showed four generations of Sevilles had owned the property. At first the Lands Commission wouldn't accept it, since they have always been suspicious of the Catholic church, but in the end, Don Hernando won. His claim was ratified and Rancho Las Palmas remained in his family's hands.”

“If such records exist, could they not also prove the de la Guerra claim?”

Alejandro nodded. “It is possible. Unfortunately, the priest who would know is preparing even now to leave for Los Angeles. Unless you can reach him today, it will be many months before he will return—perhaps never, should he journey on to Mexico.”

The don came up from his chair. “Where is he?”

“At a small church about thirty miles south of here. I learned of his departure through the priest at the mission in Carmelo. The man you wish to see, Padre Renaldo, is very old. For a while he lived at the mission in San Juan Bautista.”

“
Si
 … I believe I remember him from when I was a boy.”

“The records are not there, but if they still exist, he will know where to find them.”

“Then I must go to him … speak to him before he leaves.”

Alejandro shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “It is a long, grueling ride, but I can think of no other way. And even if you find the documents, I cannot guarantee the Land Commission will overturn its decision.”

“I understand. Still, it is more hope than I have had in some time.”

Alejandro rounded his desk and extended a hand to the tall, imposing don. “God go with you, my son.”

“
Gracias,
Don Alejandro. My family and I are grateful for your help.” He started for the door, lifted the latch and drew it open.

“Oh, and by the way”—Alejandro smiled—”my most hearty felicitations on your marriage.”

For a moment, the younger man's hard look softened. “
Gracias.
I will relay your kind words to my bride.” Then the lines of his face grew grim once more. Long, purposeful strides carried him into the quiet dirt street and Alejandro closed the door.

*   *   *

“I am sorry,
chica.
I hate to leave you like this, but I cannot take you with me. Perhaps I should speak to my cousin … see if there is room for you at Casa Micheltorena.”

“Don't be silly. If this is as important as you say, then of course you must go. I'll be fine while you are away, and you'll be back by tomorrow night. After that, we can be together.”

He bent his head and kissed her. “Monterey is a peaceful town, but it is not so safe as it used to be. Promise me you will stay inside the hotel and be sure to lock the door before you go to sleep.”

“I told you, I'll be fine.”

“Promise me.”

“All right, I promise.”

Ramon smiled, thinking how lovely she was and how much he hated to leave her. “I will be counting the hours until my return.” He collected his saddle bags and turned toward the door.

“Ramon?”

“Si, querida?”

“Are you certain you won't tell me what this is about?”

A moment of unease filtered through him. He wished he could tell her the truth, make her understand that the land belonged to his family, had for generations, and he intended to do everything in his power to see it returned. But the man he opposed was her uncle. He couldn't be certain how she would feel if she knew.

“Perhaps when I come back.” He pulled her against him, took her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss that said she was his and that she shouldn't forget it. “
Hasta mañana,
my lovely wife. I will return as quickly as I can.”

“Good luck, Ramon.”

The unease returned. Her uncle was a subject they hadn't discussed since their days in the stronghold. It was as if each of them was afraid to broach a topic that was bound to set them at odds. He wondered if she would still wish him luck if she understood what it was that he planned to do.

“
Gracias, querida.
Take care of yourself until my return.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

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.