Once A Wolf (12 page)

village were willing to shelter an outlaw like Tomás was equally clear—unless these people

were somehow unaware of his activities. In either case, , Rowena would not forgo common

courtesy.

"Please thank her for me," she said.

"You can thank her yourself. The word is gracias."

"Gracias, señora Valdez," Rowena pronounced carefully.

The woman burst into a renewed flood of Spanish. Tomás listened and nodded with half-closed

eyelids.

"She's very curious about you," he remarked when the woman hurried back to her house.

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"And what did you tell her?"

"That all will be revealed tonight. Soon the men will come in from the fields. The village will

hold a baile for us— a dance, you would call it." He grinned. "The people will use any excuse for

a dance."

"You are very popular here."

"I'm fortunate to have many friends throughout the Rio Arriba. If you choose, you can make

them your friends as well."

"How can they be mine when they are yours?"

"You'll find," he said, easing closer, "that you and I are not such enemies, Rowena." He'd no

sooner come with a hairbreadth of brushing her lips with his than he was turning smoothly to

greet the old man with the cane, who seemed as delighted to see him as señora Valdez had

been. Rowena was left speechless.

There followed a steady stream of visitors, barefoot boys at first, and then men of various ages,

and shy girls and women who hung back while Tomás and his men found stabling for the

horses. Rowena was the subject of many curious glances and whispered speculation. Tomás's

men were known to the villagers, and some wandered off with acquaintances. Sim Kavanagh

stood along at the edge of the milling crowd, smoking a cigarette. His baleful stare caught

Rowena more than once.

If she were less a lady, she would confront that man and demand to know the reason for his

dislike. But to acknowledge his stares was beneath her—as much beneath her as fluttering

about Tomás with coy glances and hooded eyes like several of the pretty señoritas. Tomás had

a jaunty word and a wink for every one of them.

None too soon, the well-wishers went about their business, leaving a trio of staid older men

who spoke to Tomás with dignified formality. Tomás introduced the elder of them as Don

Pablo. He tipped his hat to Rowena. She nodded.

"Don Pablo insists that you and I stay in his casa," Tomás said. "We will dine with him." He

turned back to the men and withdrew something from his waistcoat. Rowena recognized the

leather bag of coins he'd received for the stolen horses.

At first Don Pablo refused the bag, looking both hopeful and embarrassed. But Tomás pressed it

into his hands with a coaxing grin. "Para los ninos" he said.

Don Pablo bowed his head, the telltale moisture of tears in his eyes. "Dios le bendiga, Don

Tomás. Dios le bendiga."

"De nada. "Tomás pretended not to notice the old man's emotion. He excused himself with a

slight bow and took Rowena's arm to draw her away.

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"Was that for my benefit?" she asked.

"Perdon?"

"You wanted me to witness the disposal of your ill-gotten gains, did you not? I see that I

misjudged you." In spite of herself, the words rang with mockery. "El Lobo is simply an

American Robin Hood—stealing from the rich to give to the poor."

"Do you find that so ridiculous, my Lady Ice?"

"Don't call me that."

"But it suits you so well." Under his light tone and idle half-smile lay a core of steel. "Your

English Robin Hood stole from nobility just like you, my lady." He gestured at señora Valdez's

house. "Don Pablo and Asunci6n, who have invited us to eat at their table, were not always

poor. Once they were among the ricos of the Territory. They owned much fine land, and many

sheep. When the Americans came, some like them began to lose what they'd had since the old

days under Spain and Mexico. They didn't understand the new ways and new laws, and the

lawyers found it easy to trick them. Don Pablo and his people were driven from his family's

land, and started again in this village, where life is much harder. He cares for the people who

once worked for him as best he can. I am merely trying to give back a little of what was taken

from him."

An unexpected suspicion crowded into Rowena's mind. "You aren't suggesting that Cole had

something to do with this man's situation?"

"Not Cole, but another much like him."

She released her breath. "I am sorry that fortune treated Don Pablo so poorly," she said. "There

is still much about this country I don't know. But you are clearly an educated man, Tomás. I

doubt that you were ever among the poor."

"Have you finally developed an interest in my past?"

"If I did, would I find justification for criminal behavior?"

He laughed. "I have a premonition that before you and I part company, you'll find yourself on

the wrong side of the law at least once, mi rubia."

"I should hate to disappoint you. Why not let me go, before you learn how mistaken you are?"

"When your company is so very… stimulating?" His grip on her arm became a slow caress from

wrist to elbow, a stroke she felt keenly through her snug sleeve. "I don't know how I managed

without you to keep me in my place."

"Your place is in a jail."

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"I'd far rather be in your bed."

Six

His shocking bluntness sent a stab of alarm and heat racing along Rowena's spine. Games, she

reminded herself. He's good at playing games, to see what sort of reaction he can get. Just like

Quentin.

The thought of Quentin cleared her mind at once. A rogue her brother might be, and recklessly

whimsical, but he was no criminal. She apologized silently to Quentin for the comparison.

"I presume you'd like to bathe before dinner," Tomás said, as if he'd commented upon the

weather. "Asuncion will be happy to help. Come."

Whatever else he might do or say to discompose her, he hadn't lied about Don Pablo's

hospitality. Asuncion set about fussing over Rowena like a mother hen. Her attitude was

respectful but without formality; she carried herself like one still surrounded by the wealth

Tomás implied she had lost. She hung a blanket over the open doorway of a small, square room

adjoining the sala or main chamber of the house, providing Rowena with complete privacy to

wash with the use of clean rags, rough soap and a tin tub filled with warm water. She hadn't felt

so wonderful in ages.

She did what she could to freshen her clothing as well, rinsing out her spare drawers and

chemise, and then had time to rest. The room was unfurnished save for a little table, a

cupboard, a crude bench, and rolled blankets or mats set along two of the walls. One deep

window, its sill awash with bright potted flowers, let the last daylight into the room. In its very

simplicity was an unforeseen beauty. Outside she could hear the children of the village laughing

and preparing for the baile after dinner.

Children. She closed her eyes and let herself sag against the wall. The high, happy voices

reminded her of the babies she longed to have—children who would certainly never know

poverty. Not like these. Was Tomás so terribly wrong to want to help people who did not enjoy

the privileges of the rich?

Yes. There were ways other than stealing and killing; she and Cole had funded several

charitable organizations in New York. Any good Tomás did was undone by the methods he

employed to achieve it.

What had driven him to this life, and to such hatred of Cole MacLean?

You don't care, she told herself desperately. You don't care at all.

During a long hour of uncomfortable reflection, the scents of exotic cooking penetrated every

room in the casa. Rowena's mouth was watering when Asuncion came to fetch her.

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The dining area was dominated by one big, battered table obviously built by someone with a

rudimentary knowledge of carpentry. The chairs did not match. The plates were chipped and

the cutlery plain, but Rowena knew that the Valdez family had set out its very best for her and

Tomás.

Three children, two young women, and a middle-aged man joined Don Pablo and Asunci6n at

the table. Tomás declined the head seat and guided Rowena to the center of the table, where

they would be surrounded by their hosts.

Aware of her deficiencies in language and her unfamiliarity with the ways of Tomás's people,

Rowena tried not to let her nervousness show.

She was the one at a disadvantage here. Surely these folk didn't know she was an unwilling

captive, and she had no way of telling them. Tomás could say anything he liked with-out fear of

contradiction.

It seemed that he wished to test her. He would learn that she could pass any devious trial he

set her.

Tomás named each of the elements of the meal: tortillas, frijoles, mutton in a stew with red

chile sauce, and coffee. Everyone was courteous but informal; Rowena couldn't remember the

last time she'd dined so casually, or on such unusual fare. There was much genuine warmth and

chatter among the family members, and she felt an ache of un expected longing. Meals at

Greyburn—or with Cole—had never been like this.

She was just about to take a spoonful of the mutton stew when she realized that Tomás was

watching her with keen anticipation. She took a careful bite and stopped. Slowly she swallowed

and turned to him with a pleasant smile.

"Delicious," she said.

"You don't find the food too… spicy? I know that the English prefer a bland cuisine."

"Please tell our hosts that the food is excellent." She took another bite. The strong flavors

danced on her tongue like a piquant melody. So much for Tomás's assumptions.

"Very good," Tomás said under his breath. He spoke in Spanish to Asunci6n and Don Pablo.

They smiled and nodded. Rowena felt absurdly pleased that she'd pleased them.

After the main courses had been served, Asuncion and her daughter brought out sweet

dumplings called bunuelos. The young ladies, perhaps sixteen and eighteen years of age, were

far more interested in Tomás.

The elder of the two began to chatter in rapid Spanish, asking Tomás any number of questions

and using the pauses to flirt with impudent boldness. Tomás made no attempt to discourage

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her interest and gave the girls full attention, passing compliments to the younger girl that made

her blush.

After a time Rowena realized that the elder girl was staring at her. She lifted her chin.

"Please ask the young lady if there is something she wishes to ask me," she said to Tomás as

she finished her bunuelo.

The girl promptly answered Tomás's question. He covered his mouth on a cough.

"Carmen wants to know if you are able to see the sun."

"What?"

"There's a folk legend in this country that says those who are very fair cannot see the sun."

It was an absurd myth—but no more absurd than that of human beings who could change into

wolves. "Please assure Miss Carmen that I can see the sun quite well. I simply prefer the

shade."

"Perhaps that is your problem, Rowena," he said softly. "This is a land that rewards those who

love the sun. You may find it easier to accept its heat than hide from it."

"I thought that the people here came in from the sun at noon."

"They respect its power, but they are not afraid."

"You cannot seem to decide whether or not I am a coward. Fortunately, I have yet to develop

any interest in your opinion of me."

Don Pablo chose that opportune moment to speak. The women cleared the table, and it was

soon apparent that the whole family was preparing for after-dinner festivities. Tomás offered

his arm and led Rowena outside, followed by the children and adults of the Valdez family.

The evening was fair and warm, and so the baile was to be held in the open area behind Don

Pablo's house. Already many of the villagers had gathered there, including a man with a fiddle

and another with a guitar. They tuned their instruments to much laughter and happy

conversation. Children ran about freely. Women in brilliant red or yellow skirts sat on benches

that formed a loose boundary of the earthen dancing floor. Tomás's men were there—all but

Sim Kavanagh.

Don Pablo opened the celebration with a welcoming announcement. He gestured Rowena and

Tomás, the guests of honor, toward the two heavy carved chairs reserved for them. The