A Mating of Hawks (28 page)

“So did I,” he said a bit ruefully. “But, damn it, I guess the only way to get you off my mind is to get you in my arms.”

“Not a bad solution.” She laughed.

He put the owls in the truck, saying he'd burn them, and they wandered up to the spring. Helping each other undress, they bathed and played in the big rock tub, dried in the sun, admiring each other though she ached at the scars on his torso, which she traced with her fingers and kissed.

“It's too late to kiss them and make them well,” she whispered.

“Scars don't count, honey.” He spread his clothes and drew her down, holding her tenderly. “Only new wounds do. Let's be kind to each other.”

She nodded.

This time, there was not only the passionate rapture, but a sort of healing, a sense of being completed, no longer a lonely fragment of humanity but a part of wholeness. It was the most perfect peace and quiet joy she had ever known. It seemed impossible now that they had distrusted and misunderstood one another.

After a long time, they went to the house to tell the news to Mary and to have lunch, for they were both ravenous. Mary hugged them both, but held Shea off a minute to admonish him.

“This lady deserves some luck. Be sure you give it to her.”

“I'll try.” He grinned inquisitorially. “What about Geronimo's luck?”

“He can try it again when I'm certified,” Mary said firmly. “Now when's the big day so I can get the
tiswin
brewing?”

“Let's stick to beer and bourbon,” Shea pleaded.

“Sissy!” jeered Mary, then dimpled. “It
is
awful. And you have to drink gallons to get a buzz. Let's drink your Jack Daniel's.”

Before Shea left, they agreed to be married in the
sala
of the old ranch house by the priest who'd buried Patrick. Sunday afternoon would be the best time, so all the vaqueros could come.

“This Sunday?” asked Shea.

“First, don't you think we'd better decide where we're going to live?”

He looked comically surprised. “Guess we can't sleep under the ramada with the guys,” he admitted.

“I'd love to move into the old house before we have children,” Tracy said. “Though it seems a shame to oust the Sanchezes.”

“They won't have to move far,” Shea reminded. “We can renovate the old compound and give Inez that shiny newfangled kitchen she wants. Tivi and Roque need houses of their own, too, so it can all be taken care of in one swoop.”

“I hate to leave this place,” Tracy murmured, glancing around the cabin.

“We'll keep it for a getaway,” Shea promised. “And we can live here till the old house is ready.”

“I can be out tonight,” Mary offered.

“It'll take me a few days to get things straight at El Charco,” Shea said. “When do you get certified, madam mechanic?”

“Two more weeks.”

“Sanchezes would make room,” Shea considered, “but how about spending the time at El Charco? We could slick the adobe up enough for it to serve till you're ready to listen to my buddy's honorable intentions.”

Mary thought a minute, then nodded her smooth black head. “Sounds like a good idea. It'll give me a chance to check that man out.”

“Just don't break his finger,” Shea urged, eyes dancing. “We've got work to do.”

He kissed Tracy and left. Only then did she realize that he hadn't said he loved her.

Nor did he during the next few hectic days as they got blood tests, a marriage license, and made arrangements. It was a tiny mar on the shining glory of Tracy's happiness, but she told herself he'd already risked beyond what she'd dreamed possible.

He
must
love her. Actions were more than words, weren't they? Yet she hungered for the words.

He slept at El Charco but stayed late every evening with her. The summer evenings were warm and pleasant, so it was no hardship to leave the cabin to Mary and walk in the moonlight or spread a blanket and sit and talk till the moment came when he drew her into his arms.

The first night, as they melted into each other with excruciating sweetness and then rested peacefully, blissfully in each other's arms, she murmured against his cheek, “I love you.”

He smoothed her hair, traced her eyebrows and nose and mouth, before he raised on one elbow to caress her body. “You're beautiful,” he said huskily. “Head to toe! And one helluva woman with it!”

In spite of his tenderness, she felt denied, longed for him to say he loved her. Another night they decided to soak in the hot spring.

What began as a frolic ended in wild urgency, climaxing in a strange sensation of weightless, almost bodiless union. When they had toweled each other off and lay in the tree-filtered light, he said slowly, “Tracy, life here is different from the city. Sure you won't get bored?”

She laughed at such absurdity. “With you? And I've got my work.”

“That's just it.” Rolling over, he held her chin and gazed down at her. “I can't believe anyone as pretty and smart and wonderful as you will find me a good long-term proposition.”

“You're wonderful yourself,” she laughed. “Anyway, I love you.”

He kissed her. Soon, they wanted each other again. But at no time could she bring herself to ask,
“Do you love me?”

If he said yes, she'd be ashamed at having had to extract what should have been a gift. Worse, she simply didn't know what she'd do if he admitted plain sexual desire had driven him.

What was so awful about that? she asked herself roughly. There could be passion without love, but she didn't believe, in a man-woman way, there could be love without passion. If he didn't love her now, that might come later. She had to face the fact that perhaps the desertions of his wife and mother had left him unable to love in the way she wished. But she could love him. She
would
love him.

Sunday afternoon, the
sala
was thronged with vaquero families, from grandparents to babies. Little browneyed girls looked like flowers in their ruffly pink, yellow, blue and white dresses, and there were flowers in vases, flowers lovingly tended by women who longed for color and softness in the harsh desert.

Mary and Geronimo stood up with Shea and Tracy, but as the priest spoke the beautiful timeless words, Tracy felt that unseen presences blessed them, too.

Patrick, who had raised them both, able to see now, and to walk. That first Patrick, the San Patricio, flaming-haired, with his arms around Socorro whose sweet smile was like that of the dark little Guadalupana in the niche above. Santiago of the golden eyes and panther grace. Steadfast Talitha; Caterina united in eternity with the man for whom she'd died; their grandson Sant, with Christina, grandmother to Shea, great-grandmother to Tracy.

And surely Johnny Chance was no outcast here when his blood ran in Tracy. Even the giant ghost of Mangus Coloradas might tower in the door a moment with the host of other spirits who had been part of the life of the ranch.

The only person whose presence seemed strange was Pardo. After the ceremony, he wished them well and drank to them, but he refused to stay for the early dinner which in fact was more like a feast.

“Think I make these good folks nervous,” he said with a swaggering grin that faded to grimness as he stared at Tracy. “You're getting one good man, lady. Take care of him.” He thumped Shea on the shoulder. “Happy days, sarge—lots of them!”

“Thanks. Let me know when you decide to make an honest man of yourself, and we'll sure come to see the ceremonies.”

Pardo shook his Pharaoh-like head. “It's not for me. But I sure wish both of you all the luck.”

He went out between the people, who hushed and drew together to let him pass. When he was gone, as if a shadow lifted, Inez and Concha led the women, who laughed and embraced and kissed the newlyweds. “This would please Don Patrick so,” breathed Concha, blowing her nose loudly into a tiny lace handkerchief.

“Ay, it is good,” agreed Inez. “Good to have a woman of the old blood back at the ranch.”

“You have done wisely,
hijito
,” said Don Aniceto gravely. “I pray to teach your sons to rope and ride and hope to see a daughter as lovely as your bride.”

There were many such courtly but heartfelt wishes before the crowd moved into the big kitchen–dining room where every family had brought a huge dish to round out the stew kettles of barbecue. Tivi tended an improvised bar and Lupe presided at a crystal punch bowl, where she poured iced fruit punch for the children and the women who didn't want wine or something stronger.

The priest departed after the dinner, saying he'd never tasted such delicious tamales or enchiladas, chilis rellenos, or posole. After the food was cleared away, Chuey and several other vaqueros got out their guitars. Those who weren't too sated rolled up the rugs and danced, an overflow spilling out into the paved court-yard.

Shea had opened the dance with Tracy. Bowing his head to hers, he gave her ear a quick nibble. “Hey, this is fun! Haven't been such doings at the Socorro since—” His smile died.

Tracy's heart convulsed. Since he'd married Cele? His arm tightened about her as he went on, “It strikes me that this family hasn't given the people a lot to celebrate. When I got married before, it was by the J.P. in Nogales because Dad hadn't liked the idea, thought we were too young. No one felt like partying over his wedding to Vashti.” He laughed and whirled her till she spun breathlessly back to him. “I reckon the last family fiesta was your fifteenth birthday party. Remember that?”

“I certainly do! I'm glad I have enough Mexican blood to have rated one of those!”

“It's a sign the ranch needs you to add some sparkle.” The warmth in his eyes kindled to a blaze. She felt that delicious, helpless yielding that went through her at his slightest touch. “How long do we have to stay before I can decently carry you off?” he asked.

“It may not be decent, but I'm ready anytime.”

“Good. Let's make our good-byes then.”

A round of their well-wishers. More embraces, felicitations, admonitions. Out on the veranda, Mary and Geronimo broke off a heated exchange. Geronimo's round face was doleful as he wished them joy and added dourly, “I've tried to tell this
mujer mala
we might as well get married now as in two weeks but she's more stubborn than a blind burro!”

“My mechanic's certificate's going to hang on the wall right along with our marriage license,” she said, flushed cheeks making her even prettier. “But it's silly for me to sleep in that adobe while this big jerk beds down in the ramada a hundred yards away.”

“You want Don Aniceto and Jaime to think I'm marrying a loose woman?”

“They'd better believe I'm loose!” Mary flashed. “If you want to clamp leg-irons and handcuffs on me, fella, you just forget the whole thing!”

“Caray!”
Geronimo groaned, grabbing his forehead. “It's a good thing my mother's dead! I could never let her meet you!”

“That proves it!” Mary thrust.

“Proves what?”

“That you're more Mexican than Apache! Worrying about what your mother would think!”

“My mother's dead.” Geronimo's look and tone were thunderous. “She knew a woman belonged in the house, not flat on her back beneath a car!”

“That's better than being flat on my back in some other places,” Mary retorted. Swinging away from him, she gave Tracy's hand a squeeze. “Don't mind us! You're beautiful together. Have a beautiful life!”

Geronimo punched Shea and hugged Tracy. “He gives you any trouble,
chica
, you just tell me.”

“Big talk,” scoffed Mary. “You guys would stick together and you know it!”

“Have a nice fight,” laughed Shea, drawing Tracy along with him. “Try to get it out of your systems now or you'll never stop quarreling long enough to get married.”

They made their way through the crowd and paused near the corrals. Shea nodded toward a pair of red-tailed hawks that circled a big sycamore down beside the creek.

“Looks like they've nested. And by now I bet they're wishing their kids would take off on their own.”

“Do you think one's the female you patched up?”

“I'm pretty sure of it.”

The area between the house and corrals was full of vehicles from the most ancient of trucks to a few glittering Harley-Davidsons. To Tracy's surprise, Judd's camouflaged RV was parked next to Shea's green pickup. Judd and Vashti hadn't been asked to the wedding, since it had seemed unlikely they'd care to attend and Tracy would have felt strange to have either of them there.

Judd lounged out of the shade of a mesquite, smiling unpleasantly as he shambled toward them. It scarcely took the sour whiskey smell to know he'd been drinking more than he could handle. He raised a bottle in an awkward toasting gesture.

“Had to come to my little brother's wedding even if I wasn't asked,” he slurred. “Well, here's to the happy couple! To the uptight monk and the violated virgin!”

Lips tightening, Shea tried to get Tracy past him. Judd patted her on the arm. “You kids have any trouble figuring out what goes where, just let me know. Be glad to help.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “Maybe he'll do better than that impotent nut who tried to rape you. He know about that, baby?”

Shea grabbed Judd, dragged him toward the RV. Judd grunted and flailed out viciously. Shea drove a fist into the softening midriff. Judd doubled up. Shea opened the RV, boosted his half-brother into it. He got out the keys and went over to some vaqueros who were smoking by the corral, obviously asking one of them to drive Judd home.

Back with Tracy, Shea helped her into the pickup, carefully lifting the white cotton-eyelet dress's long skirt out of the way. A search of stored family wedding dresses had turned up this one, which fitted and had been Christina's.