Three Wishes (6 page)

We rode between two crude posts and down a road that I supposed marked the formal entry, following along two tracks cut by wagons, closer to the U-shaped house in the distance. As we drew nearer, I could see that the gates could be closed and fortified, but were now open to us in welcome. A massive, twisting bougainvillea vine—heavy with purple flowers—climbed to one side of the front door, nearly reaching the top of the second story. I noted two armed men on the roof—clearly guarding the villa. Were we in danger here? Did it have to do with the guys who’d been chasing Javier early this morning? A stately, silver-haired woman, a younger woman with a baby on her hip, and four children gathered in the center of the U, turning to look our way, but it was Javier who strode forward. Behind him, the older woman—his mother?—and the others hung back, near a bank of rose bushes.

Javier was in a clean jacket, his curly hair pulled into a ribbon at the nape of his neck. But seeing the man I’d met on the beach again, with the bruise from my knee clearly visible on his face, made my heart race.

John and I both spoke at once. But I pushed through when he hesitated. “I wished to return your horse,” I repeated in Spanish, aware, now more than ever, that I needed Javier to think of me as a friend. “Thank you for lending her to me.”

He paused, looking from my bare feet, then across my fine gown, his eyes seeming not to miss an inch of it, to my face. “I do not recall
lending
her to you.”

I tried to swallow again, but found my mouth was dry. “I…well, I—Yes. But is it not better that I brought her to you than had I not?”

“Or would it have been better for you not to
steal
her at all?” he said, moving closer to yank the mare’s reins from my hand. He rubbed his hand along her head and neck and then stooped to examine her legs as if he suspected I’d injured her somehow. “Theft of a man’s horse is a hanging offense.”

My eyes moved to the captain.

“Come now, Javier,” John said, dismounting. “Cease your press. No matter what has transpired, a horse rustler never returns what he captures, does he? You and Señorita Ruiz clearly got off on the wrong foot. And this young woman is in need of your hospitality…she’s been injured in a fall and cannot quite remember all she ought.” He handed his reins to an Indian child dressed in a jacket far too small for him, with no shirt beneath, and only a leather-like diaper below. “Perhaps that led her to act rashly. I thought your mother and sisters might see to her until she regains her full faculties.”

He strode toward me and reached up, taking hold of my hips.
He wants to help me down,
I belatedly realized, when he glanced up, a puzzled look in his eyes over my hesitation. I took hold of his shoulders, and he lowered me gently to the ground, giving me a small, encouraging smile. Urging me to continue to trust his decision in this, no matter how it might feel at the moment.

“Now. Shall we begin again? Don Javier de la Ventura, master of Rancho Ventura, may I present to you Señorita Zara Ruiz?” John asked, his voice high and tight. I wanted to look his way, but my eyes were drawn solely to this Javier de la Ventura. The guy I’d kneed in a
couple
of different ways. Luckily, he appeared to have made more than a full recovery, other than the bruised cheek. He sniffed, straightened, and peered down at me intently, as if deciding whether or not we could begin again.

I fought to not squirm under his heated gaze.

Suddenly deciding, he took my hand, bent and slowly kissed it, looking at my face all the while. He knew he was making me feel uncomfortable, but still he lingered, clearly loving that it threw me. There was something tangible between us, a pull that both drew and repelled me in panic.

I hurriedly pulled my hand from his and took a step away.

But he followed after, his fingers sprawling across my lower back, gently guiding me forward. “
Please
, Señorita Ruiz. Captain Worthington is correct. Accept my hospitality, and we shall begin again. You are welcome here at my home,” he said, in a falsely sweet tone, gesturing toward the villa, “for as long as you have need of shelter and support.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking hesitant steps forward as he pressed. We paused to meet his mother, Doña Elena, dressed in a severe, black gown; his black-clad sister-in-law, Adalia—a pretty, round-faced girl with baby Álvaro in her arms; and his sisters, Francesca and Estrella, as well as his brothers, Mateo and Jacinto. The girls—about fourteen and twelve—each curtsied to me. The boys—maybe fifteen and ten—both gave me a bow. But his mother…she only stared at me. She reminded me of a couple old ladies in our
barrio
, exuding power with only the use of her eyes. Javier pressed my back again. “This way, Señorita Ruiz.”

“Zara,” I said. “You may call me Zara.”

He lifted one perfect black brow, and his dark, chocolate-colored eyes twinkled with curious mischief. “So informal, Señorita! Are you certain? We’ve but just met.”

“Yes, I’m certain,” I insisted, irritated that he seemed to be reveling in any chance he could grab to unnerve me—his own special brand of payback? I didn’t miss the fact that he did not invite me to call him
Javier
as we continued to walk down the hall and into a grand sitting room.

“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair before us, with leather stretched across the seat, a cowhide pillow at the back. All of the furniture appeared as such—handmade of rustic pine and leather. But of good quality. At last his hot hand left my back, and I sat down across from John.

The captain pulled off his gloves and set them on the table between us. “Thank you for looking beyond your unfortunate introduction,” John said to Javier, glancing toward me. “I knew I could count on you to look after Señorita Ruiz.”

I am right here
, I thought, irritated that they talked about me as if I wasn’t. And I didn’t need a babysitter! Why did they talk about me like that? Everyone seemed to be staring at me—the maids, the manservants, as well as Javier’s mom and sisters and brothers as they took their seats. I imagined Doña Elena had x-ray vision, she was staring at me so hard.

“I am more than capable of discussing my predicament myself, Captain.”

“But will you freely discuss it?” Javier jumped in. “When we first met, it seemed that you had your share of secrets.”

“Not secrets,” I said, gratefully taking a cup of tea from a maidservant. “It was only that I was confused, my memories largely absent. You alarmed me with your advances.”

Doña Elena’s laser vision shifted to her son.

“No, Mamá,” he said, lifting a hand to her. “It is not as it sounds.”

“No?” Her dark eyes shifted to his cheek.

“No,” he said firmly.

It warmed me, her sudden shift, the protective stance, her willingness to believe that I might have had cause to strike him. That wasn’t like any Mexican mama I knew, but there was something in that automatic belief in me and my intentions that reminded me of my own abuela. Still, thinking back, I did regret hurting Javier. In all fairness, he likely had reason to doubt me. My abrupt appearance, right after he’d been chased? A strange girl miles away from any known town?

But why would Doña Elena take my side? Be willing to doubt her own son? Unless her son was a troublemaker...

“Who was it that was chasing you this morning?” I said to him sweetly, reaching for my teacup to take a sip and praying no one noticed my trembling.

“Chasing?” he said, leaning back and taking a sip from his own cup. “There was no one chasing me this morning. We were but a few friends out for a morning’s race.” His dancing eyes settled on mine.
Leave it alone. Say nothing more.
Doña Elena’s narrowed, keen gaze surveyed us both.

“Oh, I, uh…of course. A race. I was mistaken.” I let out a hollow laugh. “It appears my head is more muddled than I thought.”

I felt a tiny glimmer of appreciation from Javier. I’d covered for him. He was keeping some sort of secret from his mother in regard to those guys…

John leaned forward, nodding encouragingly. “Don’t fret overmuch,” he encouraged. “As I said, it will likely all come back to you in time. And then Javier and his family can help you get back home to your own.”

“Sí, sí, my own,” I repeated. They moved on to the subject of tallow and whether the ranch could sell him ten more crates of candles, but my mind kept repeating his last words to me:
your own
.

Who exactly would that be? I had no grandmother, no parents to speak of. My friends were graduating in a month, heading off to seek jobs or to go to college, not one of them planning to stay in our neighborhood. I’d planned to go to the community college…then eventually transfer to another school to study atmospheric science and meteorology. A teacher had encouraged me, said I had a face for television and the smarts to get me through school, and I’d always had a thing for clouds and weather. But now, with my abuela gone and no one to run the restaurant, I had no idea how I could swing even community college, financially. She’d been my sole support, my only hope on that front. And the restaurant brought in only enough to pay the mortgage, food, and an occasional bill. College would have been a stretch, with Abuela around.

Now, without her, it seemed impossible.

“Miss Ruiz has a fine command of the English language,” John said, continuing in Spanish, as we rose to move to the dining room when it became clear that dinner was about to be served.

Doña Elena coughed as if startled. I dared not look in her direction.

“I’ve heard her use the foreigners’ tongue,” Javier said, arcing an eyebrow and glancing at me as if wondering about that anew. Apparently English or even Spanglish wasn’t a thing yet.

“Indeed,” John returned in perfect Spanish. “She may prove useful to you in your negotiations this summer with other captains. I know for certain that some will carry translators of their own; not all are scrupulous. Some are known to skim a portion of the profits for themselves. Having someone on your side who speaks both languages might prove a boon to you. Who knows?” he said, waiting as Javier pulled out my chair and then helped me scoot toward the rough-hewn table. “Her beauty could do more than sway a few more captains into your harbor. And her intellect could help you land better deals than ever before.”

Yo!
Right here with ya
, I wanted to interject.

But I managed to hold my tongue. John meant well. He was trying to secure my position here, give me some power. I was grateful. I needed any edge I could find.

Javier flicked a dismissive glance over me. “The last thing I need is a woman’s meddling in my business.”

I literally bit my tongue that time, rather than let out some sassy retort.

“This is
Mexican
territory,” Doña Elena added, as Javier pushed her chair in toward the table across from me. “Our guests,” she paused to arrow a look at me, “are expected to speak the language of our people. We do not require translators.”

“Indeed, Doña Elena,” John said amiably. “It behooves the finest captains to speak the language. But there are more coming your way this summer than ever before. I know from my own native Maine that more than three score were scheduled to set sail for the West Coast. And that only accounts for those from Maine. Would it not be beneficial to your rancho? To have options to circumvent any obstacles to trade? It appears you have more hides and tallow in your storehouse than I’ve ever seen before.”

Javier nodded. “It’s been a good year for us.”

“If my son doesn’t gamble away all our profits,” Doña Elena grumbled, “it shall be the best yet.”

Javier and John kept silent.

“Perhaps you can speak some sense into him before you set sail,” Doña Elena went on, riveting the captain with a scowl. “It is time for my son to take a wife. To begin having children. It is time for the next generation to begin, to help populate this rich land we’ve been given. Dante and Adalia had their start, but—” She paused, bit her lip, wiped an eye. But she didn’t even look Adalia’s way. The baby had been spirited away by a maid when we reached the table. I thought it kind of awful, the way Doña Elena seemed to write off Adalia as dead too. As if all her hopes had died with her son, Dante.

“Mamá, please,” Javier said sternly. “This is a conversation for family only, not anything John wishes to take part in. Nor Señorita Ruiz.”

She lifted her goblet as soon as a servant poured her wine, taking a big gulp as if to distract herself, and then looked my way again. I hurriedly glanced away.

“Oh, I wouldn’t rush to such a conclusion,” John said, lifting a teasing brow at Javier. “Your mother makes an interesting point. What keeps you from taking a bride, my friend? You have this fine rancho, more than enough food, one of the finest villas in either Baja or Alta California…”

Javier turned his goblet in a circle and cast him a flinty look. “I could ask the same of you. A man of a certain age, with six fine ships now to his family’s name…”

“Ah, yes, but months at sea. I fear I’d miss a wife too much, and it would end my seafaring days. In time, I shall take a wife. Just not yet,” he said, lifting his goblet.

Javier lifted his own, and they clinked them together, as if in silent toast to bachelorhood.

I understood then. Confirmed bachelorhood was bound to make Doña Elena crazy. Every Mexican mama I knew wanted nothing more than babies and grandbabies and great-grandbabies. It had been my own abuela’s great sadness that I was her only family not in prison or on the run. To her, it meant she was poor in the only way that mattered.

We bowed our heads for grace, and then servants arrived with steaming platters holding roast chicken covered in a rich-smelling sauce full of cumin,
arroz con mariscos
, with mussel shells artfully popping up through the mound of garlic-infused rice and between the shrimp, and lastly, tons of tamales. I swallowed hard, realizing I was hungry again.

By the time all the platters had been passed, my plate was crazy-full. Javier gave me a wry look. “It has been some time since you ate, I assume?”