Midnight Rider (33 page)

“He is also a liar, but maybe that doesn't matter.”

Ramon's head came up.

“I trapped you into this marriage. You wanted a Spanish woman, instead you got me. Perhaps I did it on purpose—to tell you the truth, I'm no longer sure. Maybe I loved you so much I would have done anything to have you. I only know that if I did, I'm sorry.” The little mare danced sideways, and Carly drew back on the reins. “Now you have a second chance. Perhaps this time you'll find a woman who can make you happy.” She dug her heels into the horse's ribs and the animal leapt forward, carrying her away from him up the trail.

For long slow seconds, Ramon stared after her. Then he swung up on Rey del Sol's back and thundered up the path in her wake. His jaw was set, his expression grim. Inside his chest, his heart beat dully, numb with pain and an ache so fierce his hands shook where they held the reins.

He had known this would happen. He had seen it time and again. He knew she was an Anglo, knew better than to trust her. He knew she would only break his heart.

And yet he had let it happen. Against all his warnings, all his vows not to let her get too close. Had he loved her so much then? Had he been willing to risk the pain he knew a woman like Caralee would surely bring?

The answer came swift and hard, scorchingly bitter in his mouth. Yes, he had loved her. More than his own life. Even now he risked himself, knowing she might well go to her uncle. She very likely would, since she had been discarded.

He did not care.

Nothing mattered anymore, not since the moment he had walked into that room and seen her lying half naked in the arms of his cousin. If he hadn't changed his plans, if he hadn't rented an extra horse on the chance he might be able to return to her, if he hadn't ridden like a madman, wanting to see her so badly, he wouldn't have caught her with Angel.

He would have been duped as easily as he had been before.

Por Dios,
he was a fool.

And he was paying for his foolishness with every aching beat of his heart.

They rode throughout the day, stopping only briefly to rest and water the horses. By late afternoon, they had reached the fork in the trail, one path leading to Rancho del Robles, the other to Las Almas and the lands beyond. Carly reined up at the fork.

“Is—is this the way to my uncle's?”

“
Si.
It is only a mile to the north. I will take you there.”

She only shook her head. “No. I want to go alone.” She turned a little and a ray of sunlight, shafting through the branches of an oak, lit her hair. The beauty of her face seemed to burn into his mind and the trembling of her lips made his own heart tremble.

Ramon said nothing, just watched her sitting so proudly astride her horse. Inside his chest, his heart was splitting, trying to twist in two. He shouldn't be feeling like this, he shouldn't be thinking of the way she had cried all night, of the soft, soul-wrenching sobs that had drifted across the camp, of the will it had taken not to go to her, to forgive her and beg her not to leave him. He shouldn't be recalling the look of hurt and disbelief he had seen on her face when he had called her his whore, the pain in her eyes when she had said that she loved him.

It wasn't the truth. If she loved him, she wouldn't have betrayed him.

“Ramon?”

“
Si,
Cara?”

“We were friends once, maybe more. Remember the way it was then, will you? Pretend that Monterey never happened. Remember the things we did, the pleasure we shared, remember the good times, not the bad. Will you do that for me?”

His throat constricted. “
Si,
Cara, I will try.” His leather-gloved hands were shaking, and his chest squeezed with each of the breaths he forced from his lungs. He started to rein the stallion away.

“One more thing.”

He turned toward her, saw the tears that sparkled on her cheeks. “You mustn't feel too badly about what has happened. If you had loved me, you would have recognized the truth even if your eyes said it was a lie. Find a woman you can love, Ramon. Don't settle for anything less.”

His heart clenched, seemed to crumble inside him. His throat burned and he could not swallow past the hot ache that rode there. “Cara, please … I cannot…”

He didn't say more and neither did she, but her eyes remained on his face, as if she were memorizing each of his features.

Moments passed. Long, immeasurable seconds that marked the end of all that had been between them, the shifting winds that altered each of their lives. The oneness they had shared was a thing of the past. They would never do the things he had hoped for, the things he had begun to let himself dream. There would be no future for the two of them, no children they would raise to be proud and strong.

His mind fought a surging wave of pain. Carly spun the little mare, quirted its rump and began to gallop up the trail.
If you loved me,
she had said, but she was wrong. He did love her. So much that losing her was the most painful thing he had ever suffered. Watching her ride away was like seeing the light go out of his life, leaving him in darkness.

His hand shook against the pommel of his saddle, his insides felt leaden. How could he love her and at the same time hate her so much? How could he hate her and still want her?

Ramon closed his eyes, trying not to see the image of his cousin's naked body, his slim dark fingers roaming over his wife's bare breast. If another man had touched her, by now he would be dead. But Angel was family. He was a de la Guerra. He had been duped just as Ramon had been.

He reined the stallion away, the saddle horse trailing behind. At the top of the hill, he paused, watching to be certain Caralee made it safely to the rancho. She was crying, he thought, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps in her own way, she had loved him after all.

Her horse picked its way down into the valley, Caralee sitting straight in the saddle, her chin held high and her shoulders squared. He wondered what she was thinking, wondered if she regretted what she had done. He wondered if she wished she were returning to Las Almas as much as he wished he were taking her home.

He watched her for several more moments, ignoring the dull ache in his chest, his desire to turn back time until the days before their journey to Monterey. If only he could do things over, perhaps she could have come to love him enough that she never would have strayed.

He watched till her small figure dropped over the rise, then sat back in his saddle and wheeled the stallion away. Several yards up the canyon, he paused, listening to the fading sound of her little mare's footfalls on the rocky trail as she rode farther away.

When the hoofbeats had thinned to silence and the only sound left was the wind soughing softly through the trees, he steeled himself against his aching loss and resigned himself to accepting what must be.

The past was over and done. Like his brother Andreas, Caralee was dead to him, no longer a part of his life. Yesterday he had spoken to Padre Renaldo, the old man he had ridden so far to see. The priest had told him the documents he needed were probably in a vault at the mission in Santa Barbara. Once he had retrieved them, there was a chance he could finally win back his family's land.

For the first time since the deaths of his father and brother, Ramon did not care.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

“Isn't that my niece riding into the rancho?” Fletcher Austin stood at a window in the
sala,
looking out toward the valley of high brown grasses and covering of oaks. He spoke to Rita Salazar, a woman who had come to the rancho looking for work just before Caralee's wedding.

“
Si,
Senor Fletcher. That is her, I think.” Rita was part Spanish, part Miwok Indian. Fletcher had liked her ripe figure, long glossy black hair, and full lips. He had hired her to work in the kitchen, but he wasn't displeased when she'd wound up warming his bed.

Absently patting Rita's round behind, he studied Caralee's small figure as she rode closer, concern for her warring with an unexpected feeling of warmth. He didn't know why Caralee had come. Perhaps it was merely for a visit, as he had meant to visit her to be sure she was all right. Then again, maybe she had learned her lesson and wanted to come home.

Strangely he hoped so. He'd discovered that he missed her once she was gone.

Still, even if she did return, he wouldn't give up the woman. His niece was no longer an innocent. Ramon de la Guerra had a wicked reputation. By now his niece had been well schooled in the art of pleasuring a man, just as Rita had learned to pleasure him. He hadn't been with a woman in years, had steeled himself against the need for any sort of softness in his life. But his niece's feminine presence had begun to make him yearn for a woman's gentle touch. He was grateful Rita had come along when she did.

He motioned the buxom woman toward the kitchen with a brisk nod of his head then walked from the window and pulled open the heavy front door.

“Caralee, my dear. It's good to see you.” He smiled. “I was beginning to worry. A few more days without word, and I'd have been forced to travel to Las Almas myself, to be sure that you were all right.”

She looked tired, he saw, as one of the vaqueros hurried forward to help her dismount, her eyes bleak and puffed as if she had been crying.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Fletcher. I should have sent a letter. I meant to, but I never knew exactly what to say.”

He studied her pale face and the lines of fatigue around her eyes. Perhaps Vincent had been right after all. Perhaps she had been miserable with the don and finally realized the mistake she had made in marrying him.

“I hope things have worked out as you planned,” he said, never meaning anything less.

She walked toward him, came up to where he stood on the porch. “Not exactly. In fact not even close. The truth is you were right, Uncle Fletcher. I should have married Vincent. I should have done exactly as you said.”

She looked so forlorn, he found himself reaching out to her, gathering her small frame into his arms. “There, there, my dear. It can't be as bad as all that.”

“Yes, I'm afraid it can.” She started to cry then, soft little mews that turned into deep wracking sobs and made his throat go tight.

“It's all right, Caralee. You're home now, back with your family where you belong.”

Her head came up from his shoulder. “You mean I can stay? You'll forgive me for the things I've done?”

“There is nothing to forgive, and of course you can stay.” He brushed damp burnished hair back from her cheeks. “We all make mistakes. Not all of us are brave enough to admit them.”

Caralee simply nodded. For a moment more she clung to him, then she sniffed back her tears and turned away.

“Better?” he asked, handing her his handkerchief.

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Much. Thank you, Uncle Fletcher.”

He took the sachel the vaquero had removed from behind her saddle, escorted her into the house and down the hall to her old room. “Are you hungry? Shall I have Candelaria bring you something to eat?”

“I'm not hungry.” She dragged in a shaky breath, fighting hard not to cry again.

“Don't look so down-hearted,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We'll make this all work out, you'll see. If there's one thing your uncle is a master at it's turning a situation to his advantage.” He tipped her chin. “You're still a beautiful woman—never forget that. The right man will appreciate what he's got.”

Caralee forced a smile. “Thank you, Uncle Fletcher. I'm sorry for all of the trouble I've caused.”

“Let's not worry about that now. Why don't you rest for a while? Your things are just as you left them. You still have plenty of clothes and if there is anything else you need—”

“No. I have everything I need in my valise.”

He nodded and handed it over. “You can nap for a while, then bathe and change. Later if you want, you can tell me what this is about.”

She dabbed a last tear from her cheek. “I'd rather just forget it, if you don't mind. What matters is that the marriage is over. If there is a way to make that official, then that's what I want to do.”

He smiled. “Never you fear, my child. Just leave everything to me. In the meantime, try not to worry and try to get some rest.”

He waited till she stepped inside her room and closed the door, his mind beginning to whirl with possibilities. He assessed a few, discarded several others, then looked over those remaining. Fletcher smiled to himself. As usual, things had a way of working out. Caralee was home and the odds were good that sooner or later, Vincent Bannister would forgive her. A marriage between them might still work.

Vincent would be in his debt and so would his father. Once he was allied with a family as powerful as the Bannisters, there was no end to what he might achieve. He hoped Caralee wasn't carrying the Spaniard's babe, but even if she was, if they acted quick enough, that could be handled, too.

Which reminded him that he also had some questions for his niece regarding the Spanish Dragon and Ramon de la Guerra's possible involvement in the outlaw's criminal activities. Fletcher walked into his study and closed the door, went to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy.

Time was all he needed, and time was on his side, now that Caralee was home. Fletcher smiled with satisfaction, lifted the glass, and tossed back his drink.

*   *   *

Ramon buried himself in his work. From dawn till dusk he labored, working till exhaustion overtook him, even then he wasn't able to sleep. A stillness lay over the rancho, a quiet despair that seeped from him into the men he worked with and hung like a pallor over his mother and aunt.

He'd told no one what had happened, merely said he and Caralee had decided to end the marriage. His mother had railed at him, told him such a thing could not occur. She had begged him to tell her what had happened between them until he finally lost his temper and shouted at her not to interfere.