Someone Like You (Night Riders) (26 page)

“It wasn’t just the food,” Broc said. “It was the excitement as well. I don’t mean to sound critical, but you didn’t ever take the boy anywhere, let him do anything except study or read books, right?”

Guilt. How could she explain a situation in which she had appeared to have authority but in actuality had almost none? “I didn’t know much more than that myself. Girls are reared very differently from boys, and I only had sisters. I guess I thought Luis was too small, that I could wait until later, that Warren would become interested in him when his son got older.”

“No one is blaming you,” Rafe said. “I’m sure you did the best you could.”

She’d thought so, but if she had it to do over again, she would do some things differently. She knew so much more now than she had just a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, Luis had been the one to suffer from her ignorance. “I never
realized how important it was for him to be around a man who was young enough to teach him all the things other boys take for granted.”

“It’s not too late. He’s only nine.”

She nodded. Luis had changed so much it felt as if he’d grown three years in the last three weeks.

Broc gave vent to an exaggerated yawn. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m ready for bed.”

Broc might be a very fine actor, but Maria was certain that yawn was an excuse to leave them alone. He probably felt guilty about bringing to an end one of the few chances they’d had to be together. “I’m tired as well,” she said. “Luis always falls asleep in a few minutes. You don’t have to wait up for me.”

“While we’re waiting for Luis to fall asleep, we can take a walk around the square,” Rafe said.

“I’ll leave a candle burning for you,” Broc said.

“You’re going with us.” Rafe gave Broc a sly smile. “It’s not every woman who has the opportunity to parade around town with two men in attendance.”

Maria couldn’t be sure of Rafe’s reason for insisting that Broc accompany them, but she’d had enough stress for one day, and she could depend upon Broc to make the rest of the evening pass with lighthearted laughter. She hooked arms with Broc and Rafe. “Come on. I want everyone to see that Dolores is not the only de la Guerra woman who can capture the attention of handsome men.”

Maria used to think the day Luis had been born was the most exciting and stressful day of her life. After today that day was a distant second.

The day had begun with Luis waking up bright-eyed, bouncing with energy, and bubbling over with excitement about the pony race. She’d been hoping to find an excuse to keep him out of the competition, but it was obvious he was recovered from his indisposition. Rafe and Broc had agreed
he was in the pink of health, so there was nothing for her to do but send a note to Dolores saying Luis was fully recovered and steel her nerves so she could watch the race without acting like an overprotective mother.

It didn’t help that Dolores had shocked her by turning up at ten o’clock, a good half hour before the race. Dolores declared she would watch the race with Maria. “Laveau doesn’t get up this early.”

Rafe had saddled Luis’s pony, then rejoined Maria. “Are you nervous?”

“Of course she’s nervous,” Dolores answered for her. “My poor boy could be killed.”

“I am a little nervous,” Maria admitted. “Luis is barely nine and some of those boys look two or three years older.” The fact that Luis seemed eager for the race to start didn’t make her feel any better.

“They’re off!”

The crowd of proud parents, family, and friends shouted their encouragement as the boys and their ponies jostled one another at the start. Maria gasped when a boy on a white pony bumped Luis’s pony.

“That boy is a natural,” Rafe said proudly when Luis held his pony together until he could regain his balance. “I’ll have to get him a bigger pony before I go back to Texas.”

It seemed half the boys didn’t understand that they were supposed to race one another, not try to knock one another off the track.

“Those boys don’t know how to ride,” Dolores declared.

“They know how,” Rafe said. “They’re just trying to knock out the competition.”

Maria thought that showed poor sportsmanship. She was so worried about Luis’s safety, she didn’t know when she grasped hold of Rafe’s hand. She became aware of it only when Luis emerged from the tangle and joined the leaders, who were more intent on winning the race than eliminating their competition.

“He’s ridden himself out of trouble,” Rafe said. “He’s in a good position to win.”

She would have withdrawn her hand, but Rafe didn’t loosen his grip.

“He shouldn’t be riding in this race,” Dolores complained. “He’ll be sick with exhaustion.”

“You should be extremely proud of Luis,” Rafe said to Maria. “The other boys used whips, but Luis hand rode his pony out of trouble. That takes real skill. Anybody can use a whip.”

Maria didn’t know what
hand riding
meant and didn’t care. She cared only that Luis was in the middle of a group of boys trying to reach the finish line first. The shouts from the people around her rose to a crescendo as several boys crossed the finish line in a group.

“Did he win?” Dolores asked.

“I think he came in third,” Rafe said, “but he’s the best rider out there.”

“He didn’t win,” Dolores said. “How can he be the best?”

She headed to where Broc was waiting for Luis. Maria started to follow, then realized she was still holding on to Rafe’s hand. Embarrassed, she quickly pulled away, but he just smiled and said, “Let’s go find Luis.”

When they reached Luis, Dolores was fussing over him, looking for possible injuries, and questioning how he was feeling. His gaze went straight to Rafe.

“I didn’t win,” he said.

“No, but you rode the best race of anybody,” Rafe told him. “Nobody did a better job of steadying his mount during the rough start or of getting the most out of him at the finish line. I’m extremely proud of you for finishing third against boys with far more experience.”

“See, didn’t I tell you?” Broc said to Luis.

Rafe’s pride in his accomplishment had the boy beaming. He had come out of the race with added confidence in his abilities. Maria realized it was worth a few moments of
breathlessness to see the smile on his face, the way he walked with a bit of a swagger.

“Rafe said it would be easy,” he told his mother. “And it was.”

Maria had hoped Dolores would go back to the hotel, but she stayed to watch Rafe’s race. She appeared to take great pleasure in seeing him lose. Maria, on the other hand, was never more proud of him. He lost because he’d helped a young caballero whose saddle cinch broke. The youth would have fallen into the path of the horses behind him if Rafe hadn’t steadied him and stayed at his side until he’d been able to settle himself on the horse bareback.

Maria could tell Luis was disappointed. Rafe was his hero. He couldn’t understand how his big brother could lose. Dolores attempted to use the opportunity to disparage Rafe to Luis, but that backfired when the young man and his parents came to thank Rafe for what he’d done.

“Would he really have been killed if you hadn’t helped him?” Luis asked after the young man’s father had thanked Rafe for saving his son’s life and his mother had wet Rafe’s shirt with her tears of thankfulness.

“He’s a very good rider,” Rafe said. “He probably could have pulled up on his own.”

“Nobody can stay on a horse when the saddle slips out from under him,” Broc told Luis.

Luis looked at Rafe with wonder in his eyes. “You saved his life.”

That was too much for Dolores so she left to go back to the hotel. Besides, Broc’s event was coming up. Dolores was still trying to pretend he didn’t exist.

Maria couldn’t understand what Luis found so enjoyable about watching Broc wrestle a steer to the ground, but the boy got so excited that he climbed up on his chair to cheer. For a time Maria thought the steer was going to win. How was any man supposed to wrestle an animal of that size? The steer dragged him around a bit, but once Broc got a good
hold on the steer’s horns, he used his weight to throw the animal off balance. Rafe explained that once a steer loses control of its head, it can be brought to the ground. Maria had been doubtful, but it happened just as Rafe said it would.

Which raised both Rafe and Broc in Luis’s estimation.

Later in the afternoon, while they waited for Rafe’s bronco ride to begin, Broc explained that all cowboys rode bucking horses practically every time they got into the saddle.

“My pony doesn’t buck,” Luis pointed out.

“Your pony grew up in a stable,” Broc said. “Our horses ran wild during the war and haven’t forgotten how much they liked it.”

“My pony likes for me to ride him,” Luis said.

“He likes to be taken out of his stall, but he’d be a lot happier if you weren’t on his back.”

“Oh.” Luis looked thoughtful. “Does he hate me?”

“No. You feed him and give him a nice warm bed out of the rain and cold.”

“One of the stable hands feeds him. I don’t unsaddle him or put him in his stall.”

Maria was certain Broc had backed himself into a corner.

“He knows he can depend on people, and you’re a person. As long as you’re gentle with him when you ride, he’ll do what ever you want. Now watch carefully. When they open the gate, Rafe’s horse will come out bucking as hard as he can.”

“Will Rafe fall off? Will it hurt?”

Maria did her best not to hear any of Broc’s explanation of what would happen when the gate opened. She could understand why a man would mount a horse that bucked if it was the only way he could get his work done, but how could being thrown about like a rag doll and probably sent flying through the air before crashing to the ground possibly be fun? There were times when she thought men had to be alien creatures. How else could you explain why they were so different from women?

Then again maybe
she
was the alien creature. All around her women cheered the riders who stayed on longest and shook their heads at those who were thrown. Why didn’t she thrill at the sight of a man testing his strength and skill against a powerful animal instead of cringing and praying it would be over soon?

The cheer that went up from the assembled throng signaled that the gate had been opened.

Maria didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the battle. The horse, a bony animal with brown and black spots against a dirty white coat, moved with rapidity that made her dizzy as it twisted its body into positions Maria would have thought impossible.

“That’s what a horse would do to get a cougar off its back,” Broc explained.

Broc told Luis the names of the various movements of the bronc. When he said that some horses had been known to attack the rider after they’d bucked him off, Maria was tempted to close her eyes until it was over. Much to her relief, someone blew a whistle, which apparently signaled that Rafe had stayed on long enough. He slid out of the saddle as if it were the most natural thing in the world and strode to the middle of the ring, where he acknowledged the applause of the appreciative audience. Luis was on his feet, clapping, shouting, and grinning from ear to ear.

Maria struggled to slow her rapidly beating heart. The ride had lasted just ten seconds, but she felt exhausted.

“Rafe is the best rider, isn’t he?” Luis asked Broc. “He didn’t fall off.”

“Several of the others didn’t fall off, either,” Broc reminded him.

“But Rafe was better, wasn’t he?”

“I think so,” Broc said with an indulgent smile, “but we’ll have to wait and see if the judges agree.”

The horses bucked so fast and the rides lasted such a short time, it was hard for Maria to see any difference between one
rider and another. She was just relieved that Rafe’s ride was over. She wanted him to stop bowing to all those silly women. None of them had sat through the ordeal, heart in hand, unable to take a single breath. None of them had—

“Oh, my God!”

Broc’s exclamation riveted her attention. “What’s wrong?”

Broc was already disappearing in the crowd when Maria turned to him. Her attention drawn by a sudden hush, she turned back to the ring. What she saw caused her to gasp in horror.

R
afe’s eyes were certain of what they saw, but his brain said it was impossible. A very large, very angry bull pawed the ground and glared at him from less than fifty feet away.

The fighting bulls were kept in pens at the edge of the arena so they could be released directly into the ring. All the bulls had already been brought to the holding pens because the bullfights were the next and final event of the afternoon. Through some incredible accident, one of the gates must have become loose or weak enough for the bull to get out. This was not the average bull with a natural antipathy for man. This bull had been bred for his willingness to fight anything he encountered, most particularly a man on foot. Instinctively, Rafe looked over his shoulder for a way to escape. He could hardly believe his eyes when a second bull emerged from its pen and trotted into the sunlit arena.

Nothing like this could happen—at least not by accident.

He didn’t have time to worry about how it had happened, why it had happened, or who might have done it—accidentally or intentionally. He was in the middle of a large ring between two bulls, and he had nothing with which to defend himself. There were no picadors in the arena because the bullfights weren’t scheduled to begin until later in the afternoon.

He was alone. It was up to him to save his own life.

It was natural for bulls to fight each other, but it was the practice of the people who staged the bullfights to irritate, agitate, and generally anger the bulls so they would be more
eager to fight the humans who’d tormented them. Someone had driven lances into the shoulders of these bulls for the purpose of causing pain to escalate their anger to near-blind rage. And there he stood, a perfect target.

Rafe had seen bullfights, but he’d never participated in one. He’d always thought the fights were too cruel to the bull. The odds were stacked so it was almost impossible for the bull to win. Tradition dictated that the victorious matador conclude the fight by plunging his sword into the heart of his vanquished foe. But how could Rafe vanquish his foes? He needed something to attract the bulls’ attention, to give them a target, and he didn’t have anything.