Return of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  “A little food might help.”

  “Sí, señora. As soon as you eat you will feel better.” The maid went to a sideboard and uncovered a dish containing a pear and slices of bread and cheese. “Sit here and nibble while I fix your hair.”

  The simple meal, more American than Mexican, was easy to digest. The soft strokes of the brush over her scalp soothed her, and she watched while her maid plaited her hair, pinning the long braids in an elaborate loop in back. Jeweled combs, a gift from her late husband, lent elegance to her coiffure.

  “I think I’m nearly ready to face the world.”

  She would wait another hour. She didn’t want to arrive too early, and the delay would allow her headache to subside.

  The hallway was quiet when she finally descended the stairs, but she could hear music and hurried toward the sound.

  The ballroom was magnificent. Glittering candlelit chandeliers cast a flattering light over everything, and bouquets of pink and white geraniums adorned every table. Chairs were arranged around the perimeter of the room, and the orchestra played on an elevated stage in one corner.

  The head table was set in front, just as it had been for the reception, but the chairs were empty. Apparently she was the first of the wedding party to arrive, although several guests mingled in groups or occupied chairs.

  Where is Gabriel?

  “You look lovely,” said a familiar voice. Captain Sutherland strode forward, bowed, and kissed her gloved hand. “I missed you earlier. You disappeared before I could reserve a dance.”

  “I assure you, my dance card is quite free.” She laughed up into his handsome face, noting a tiny scar at the edge of his cheek, a reminder that he was a soldier and had seen action. She was glad he’d survived.

  “Where did you go?”

  “I was indisposed. An early siesta seemed like a good idea.”

  “It wasn’t because of your seatmate, was it? He seems to enjoy teasing you.”

  “Señor Vega? Of course not. We’ve known each other since we were children. He’s like . . . a brother to me.”

  Captain Sutherland grinned and offered his arm. “In that case, may I escort you to your chair?”

  “Where are you sitting?”

  “In that alcove over there.” He gestured toward an area nearly hidden by potted palms.

  Isabella glanced around the room. “I prefer not to be on display. May I sit with you?”

  “I would be honored.”

  Isabella took his arm, and they strolled toward a cluster of chairs. She studied some of the people in the room, many deep in conversation, but didn’t see Logan among them. Maybe he wouldn’t attend. Inviting himself to the reception had been brazen enough.

  Gathering her skirts, she sat as daintily as she could on one of the straight-backed chairs. Captain Sutherland smiled but remained standing. “May I get you something to drink? Champagne perhaps?”

  Isabella repressed a shudder at the sudden twinge in her stomach and shook her head. “Nothing to drink, thank you.”

  “As you wish.” He sat next to her, his shoulder touching hers. He was comfortable and warm against her arm but didn’t send tingles to any private places.

  The way Gabriel does.

  “Tell me, señor. How long will you be in Los Angeles?”

  “For now I am assigned here to help with the transitional government. The war is essentially over, although Mexico City has not yet fallen.”

  “Perhaps it has. I understand it takes months for news to reach us.”

  “Even so, we are proceeding as though all is well.”

  “It sounds like you’re going to be an important resource, Captain.”

  “I’m trying to make myself useful, ma’am. Having people like you around sure makes it a pleasure to be here.”

  “You’re very kind to say so.”

  It was refreshing to talk to someone whose admiration was so apparent. She liked the way he tilted his head when she spoke, as if every word mattered to him. The merriment in his blue eyes made her want to smile. It had been a very long time since she’d met a man like the gallant captain.

  A lull in their conversation was interrupted by a loud flourish on the bandstand. All eyes turned toward the door as Sorina and Lance entered, appearing relaxed and in tune with one another, as though they shared a secret no one else would ever fathom.

  Isabella remembered what it was like to walk around with a dreamy expression, although she’d only experienced it briefly, and not with the man she’d married.

  Following the bridal pair were Señor de la Vega and his sister, Consuelo, with Gabriel bringing up the rear. He stood in the doorway, scanning the room as if searching for someone. She turned her head, aware that she had missed Captain Sutherland’s last comment. They were well hidden behind the palms. If Gabriel was looking for her, he wouldn’t see her.

  “Señora Fuentes?”

  “What? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was watching the bride and groom enter and didn’t hear your last remark. Please forgive me?” She batted her eyes shamelessly, not wanting him to think her preoccupied—or worse, bored.

  “I’d forgive you anything.” He gazed into her eyes and raised her gloved hand to his lips, turning it at the last minute to kiss the inside of her wrist. A pleasant feeling warmed her. She remembered when Gabriel had done the same thing, his tongue drawing little circles on the tender skin. She had nearly melted in a hot sea of desire. Then why was she not having a similar reaction to this man, who was certainly easy to look upon?

  Because your feelings for Gabriel are not dead.

  She withdrew her hand with a frown but tempered it with an immediate smile. Captain Sutherland dipped his head, like a boy who’d been caught sneaking an extra sweet. His charm tugged at her heart. He would be a good ally, especially with people like Drake Logan in the world. But she wouldn’t hurt him. Boundaries would have to be set early, defining their friendship. And if something developed later, all to the good.

  “You are naughty, señor. I have a sterling reputation to protect.”

  “I apologize. It’s just that you’re so beautiful that I forgot myself and took an extra liberty.”

  “Now it’s my turn to be naughty.” She arched her brows. “What is your given name?”

  “It’s Christopher, ma’am.”

  “And my name is Isabella. Let us no longer be quite so formal since we’ve been chatting, hidden from view, for a quarter of an hour now.”

  “As you wish, Isabella.” He stood and bowed. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

  The palm fronds parted, revealing Gabriel de la Vega’s toothy grin. “I’m afraid the lady’s first dance belongs to me . . . Christopher.”

  Isabella scowled. He was right, of course. The bride and groom would dance first, followed by the maid of honor and best man. Tradition would then dictate the rest, at least for the first set.

  Lance had convinced Sorina to follow American traditions. Some were tedious, but her friend had agreed.

  Glaring at Gabriel, who had come around the pots and now stood next to Captain Sutherland, she smiled up at Christopher as seductively as she could, extending her hand. Rising, she made him a brief curtsy. “I will be honored to dance with you, señor, but it must be the second set.”

  “I’ll be waiting to claim you then.”

  Gabriel tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they walked sedately around the edge of the room, nodding at acquaintances, until they took their places. Gabriel seated her, hopped up to the platform, and waited for the trumpets to blare a high note, quieting the crowd.

  “I give to you, Mr. and Mrs. Lance Grainger.”

  The crowd clapped and stomped. A few whistles pierced the air as the orchestra broke into a romantic Viennese waltz. A wisp of memo
ry niggled at Isabella’s brain, something Sorina told her about meeting Lance long ago at the home of one of her father’s Braithwaite relatives. They had danced in a moonlit garden, and it had been a waltz, the first one Sorina ever experienced.

  Such a beautiful memory for my friend to have.

  Isabella had never waltzed with Sorina’s husband, nor any man. Tomas had not been fond of dancing, so she’d mostly sat with the matrons when she and Tomas attended balls, tending to her embroidery and gossiping. Sorina had taught her the steps in preparation for tonight’s ball. She hoped she could remember them.

  “Now it’s our turn.” Gabriel’s breath was warm on her neck as he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “However, I must say, the view from this position is quite uplifting.”

  She glanced down at her cleavage and blushed furiously. He could see down the front of her dress? The man had no manners. “Then perhaps you should sit beside me, so others do not notice how uplifted you are.”

  “Ah, Isabella. I see you have quite recovered from your afternoon . . . shall we say, malaise?” His breath warmed her ear again.

  He had been there.

  She tried to appear indignant, but his laughter was robust and infectious. The corners of her mouth curved up despite her wish to express disapproval.

  She curled her fingers around his arm as he led her to the dance floor, where they joined the bride and groom, whirling across the room. Isabella let her feet flow to the rhythm of the music, as seductive as the sound of waves kissing the beach on a warm summer night. The heat from Gabriel’s body reached out to hers, the slight pressure of his hand on her waist pulling her closer until it was almost an embrace.

  She was barely aware of the other couples joining them. The waltz was still relatively new to the California social scene but had grown in popularity, and many knew the steps. Isabella let herself drift, fitting perfectly in her partner’s arms, basking in his special scent as they twirled around the room without speaking, lost in the moment.

  If only it could go on forever. It wouldn’t. The music would end, and she and Gabriel would go back to their feigned politeness, their barbed comments, and their mocking innuendoes. She was Isabella Fuentes, widow and owner of a prosperous ranch her husband had trained her to run, alone.

  And he was Gabriel de la Vega, scion of a wealthy family, exonerated outlaw, a man who would one day inherit a ranch as large as her own.

  Held tightly in his arms, their bodies gliding together to the sounds of the beautiful Strauss waltz, she pretended they still meant something to each other. It was a dream, as elusive as a flash of memory, sharp and insistent, refusing to fade as it all came back to her.

  Gabriel de la Vega had vanished from her life on the day they were to elope, and she had vowed she would never forgive him.

  Chapter 5

  Six years earlier

  Isabella stood in front of her father, her back straight, her hands clenched at her sides. Vicenta, her stepmother, sat nearby, a broad smile on her face.

  “I have wonderful news,” Father said. “My dearest friend, Tomas Fuentes, has offered for you. You will be a rich woman with a kind, indulgent husband. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am, Isabella. It’s a dream come true. Tomas is in no hurry to wed and will allow Vicenta to plan an elaborate fiesta to celebrate your wedding, which will take place three months from now in our parish church at Mission San Gabriel. Vicenta and I are so proud. And so relieved.”

  So proud. So relieved.

  Isabella stifled her shock by biting down hard on her lower lip. Tears filled her eyes, and the pain in her throat made it hard to breathe.

  Do not cry. Do not cry.

  “Well, what do you have to say? Is this not wonderful?” her father asked.

  She swallowed several times and forced herself to respond as expected.

  “Señor Fuentes does me a great honor.”

  “Finally, you will be married,” said Vicenta, rising to give her stepdaughter a hug. “I promise it will be a grand affair. Señor Fuentes has told us to spare no cost.”

  At eighteen, Isabella was on the verge of spinsterhood because she’d discouraged most of her suitors. Tomas was not to be put off. He’d called several times, brought her lavish gifts, and told her he admired her intelligence and her spirit.

  He was a widower with grown children who was known to be lonely. She’d expected him to offer for her eventually but found herself still unprepared for the news. She’d been sure Papa would decline the honor because of the age difference.

  She excused herself and ran all the way to the stables. Finding herself in front of the last stall, she stroked her horse as she sobbed her misery into the mare’s silky ears.

  “Is it possible to die of a broken heart?”

  The horse whinnied and swished her tail, as if trying to understand what her mistress was saying. With a final pat, Isabella closed the gate of the stall and wandered back to the house.

  On days like today she wished for the mother she’d never known. Her stepmother was a kind woman, but she’d borne no children of her own and seemed at sea when it came to dealing with her stepdaughter. Doña Vicenta’s prim countenance did not encourage confidences, and today Isabella wished with all her heart that she had someone to talk to, someone who would convince her she was a fortunate woman.

  Gabriel, why did you not ask for my hand in marriage? Perhaps, had we been married, you would not find yourself in trouble now.

  She was hopelessly in love with a man who now sat in a territorial jail in the pueblo of Los Angeles awaiting trial for ghastly crimes. Señor Santoro of Rancho de las Ranas claimed that Gabriel de la Vega abducted a female servant for evil purposes and then killed her. He also hinted that Gabriel had committed crimes with other women.

  The allegation was false. She’d been with Gabriel on the night in question. But in her strict culture, young, unmarried girls did not confess such wrongdoings, and Gabriel would not mention her name to anyone, even to save himself. Gabriel would be freed because he was innocent.

  But days had become weeks, and weeks had become months, and still he languished in the jail with no trial date set.

  Now Tomas had made his offer.

  She wandered into her room and found her maid, Catalina, tidying up. “What is wrong, señorita?”

  She tried but could not force herself to smile. “I am to be married.”

  “How wonderful. Who’s the lucky man?”

  “Don Tomas Fuentes.”

  The maid frowned. “But Señor Fuentes is . . .”

  “Older than my father? Indeed. Papa must believe it is of no consequence. He was very happy to approve the suit.”

  Catalina’s eyes widened in excitement. “Then we’ll be moving to his ranch?”

  “In three months’ time. He has a grand house in the two-story Monterey style and thousands of acres of land a mere ten miles from the sea. There are many more servants there because his ranch is completely self-sufficient. The place is like a small pueblo. I daresay you’ll have underservants to help you care for me.”

  Isabella sat on her bed and burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands as she sobbed.

  Gabriel, my love, how did this come to pass? I care not for riches or servants. I wanted only you.

  Catalina bent over her and rubbed her back. She must have known nothing she could say would ease the pain, because she remained silent. She must have thought Isabella’s sorrow was due to her future husband’s age. No one knew about her trysts with Gabriel.

  No one.

  If her father had found out, she would have been beaten and locked away.

  Isabella would grieve, in private, for what she might have had. But she knew in the end young ladies in Mexican society had no choice in their ma
rriages. Their fathers or guardians made the decisions, and, if they were lucky, the choices were good ones.

  When Catalina brought her a clean handkerchief, Isabella dried her eyes and blew her nose. Crying wouldn’t help. Papa had given his word.

  She took a deep breath and rose from the bed. “I’m going to walk for a while. If anyone asks for me, tell them I plan to return in an hour.”

  “Sí, señorita.”

  Isabella picked up her shawl and hurried outside. The hacienda was large, built in a square around a central courtyard. Letting herself out the gate and into the garden off the kitchen, she left the complex and took a path through the trees that led up an incline. There, a small stream fed a larger waterway many miles away, but here among the pines it bubbled over rocks, creating hiding places for tadpoles. This was her place of peace and reflection, the place where she came to dream, the place where she’d lost her innocence.

  She’d met Gabriel here as often as she could sneak away. They’d met as children at one of the many entertainments held by members of their society and saw each other often. After last summer, when he came with vaqueros to drive a herd of cattle back to his father’s ranch, they’d been inseparable, seeking each other’s company at every event they attended, always under the watchful eyes of her duenna.

  The hidalgos of Southern California were a close-knit group, inviting one another to weddings, betrothals, barbecues, horse races, and any number of other celebratory events. Rancheros graciously opened their home to travelers. On one occasion, she and her family stayed at Rancho de Los Lagos, Gabriel’s home, and she met his young niece, Sorina, who had become her best friend.

  I wish you were here now.

  Sorina had written only once since she’d been sent to her father’s relatives in England, and Isabella had answered. Letters took a long time, and some never did arrive. When Sorina returned to California—if she returned—Isabella would be long married.